Mr Monk and the Accident
by GR8Catch
Summary: When tragedy strikes, Monk faces the second most difficult case of his career and simultaneously discovers he can't continue to live his life the way he has since Trudy died.It's time for him to make some serious changes and difficult
1. Prologue Valencia Street

**Disclaimers and Legal Stuff...**

**Rating****: **

PG-13

**Category****: **

Angst/Romance/Mystery

**Spoilers****:**

**MONK: **A few for the series...nothing specific, general references to the past...and the guest characters from

previous episodes who pop up now and again in this tale in person or by reference. "Candidate," "Psychic," "Carnival," "Vacation," "Three Pies," "Theater," "Missing Granny," "Captain's Wife," "Dale the Whale," "Playboy."

**WICKED: **A bunch for the Broadway musical **Wicked**...plot, lyrics to songs and the ending is given away!

...if you've never seen the show, and are planning on it, you may not want to read this!

**Summary **

When tragedy strikes, Monk faces the "second most difficult case of his career" and simultaneously discovers he can't continue to live his life the way he has since Trudy died. It's time for him to make some serious changes and difficult decisions.

**Disclaimer **

**MONK** (the show) as well as the characters, Adrian Monk, Sharona Fleming, Leland Stottlemeyer, Randy Disher, Benjy Fleming, Gail Fleming, Karen Stottlemeyer, Cheryl Fleming and Trudy Monk belong to the folks at USA Network, Mandeville Films, and Touchstone Television. USA Network is a program service of Universal Television Networks, part of the Universal Television Group, a division of Vivendi Universal Entertainment (VUE) ), the U.S.-based film, television and recreation entity of Vivendi Universal, a global media and communications company.

**WICKED** is the property of Gregory Maguire (Characters, Novel), Stephen Schwartz (Music and Lyrics), Winnie Holtzman (Book), Joe Mantello (Director) and Eugene Lee (Set design)

I only own this story itself and the "extra" characters

Prologue - Valencia Street

The sandy-haired boy sailed along Valencia Street, the afternoon was clear and the street was quiet – plenty of people walking dogs and stuff, but not too many cars. In fact, he'd just waved to a neighbor and his beagle, Gracie. _I wish mom'd let me get a beagle_, he thought with a scowl and youthful irritation. The man waved back with a smile. The boy knew Mr. Jacobs thought he was an efficient, trustworthy and responsible caretaker for Gracie when he was away. Normally, he was all of those things, but today he wasn't – not really. Little did Mr. Jacobs know he'd just ditched his homework and his sitter. The boy looked up at the setting sun and knew he'd have to hurry to get back before dark. His scooter carried him along the hilly street and towards his destination: Aquarius Records. It was just a few blocks from his house. _Marjorie won't even realize I'm gone_, he thought with a sly smile. He looked over his shoulder to cross the street and was happy to see no traffic in either direction…sometimes he had to wait ten minutes to cross Valencia on a busy day – but it was nearly 5:30 …most people in the neighborhood were home already, setting the table, waiting to have dinner, _like a normal family_, he thought with a frown. Well, his family was anything but normal. _If you could even call what we have a family._

He left his scooter just inside the doorway on the rack that Aquarius provided for its youthful clientele, and saw the display for the CD he wanted right up front. He grabbed the rap CD and paid Alvin, the cashier, with the last of his allowance from the previous week. He put on his helmet and left the straps undone as usual. He grabbed his scooter and was back out on the street sailing home. That's what it felt like on the scooter, like sailing…the breeze felt good on his cheeks and the sun was still warm. It was a wistful, bittersweet sensation, although the boy couldn't yet put those types of words to the feeling, but he felt them all the same. Sailing. As suddenly as it had come, the good mood, the thrill of being free, vanished. It was replaced by anger and an overwhelming need to punch something, and an equally strong urge to protect his mother. His father had taken him on a sailboat once. _Before he left again,_ the boy frowned at the memory of his mother crying over that jerk who called himself his father. He was so wrapped up in thinking about his rat-fink father…_I hate him_, basketball tryouts…the cut list would be posted tomorrow…_I have to make it,_ that idiot father of Mitch's…hitting on his mother… T_he guy was married, a dad, and still hit on my mom,_ his new CD…_I can't wait to crank this on the stereo when I get home_, and the way the scooter let him fly…_I wonder if driving feels this good,_ he didn't notice the car that had crawled down the block to end up beside him as he scooted down the bike lane in the street. A tingle on the back of his neck alerted him and made him look up and over his shoulder. He shook his head, he was not sure he'd seen what he thought he saw.

He looked back over and said with surprise, "Hey! What are you doing in that car?" When he tried to get closer, the car swerved away and then forcefully towards him again. He leaped back off his scooter in surprise and shock. The driver of the burgundy Ford was trying to hit him. Then he looked around and realized no one would believe what had just happened, so he got on his scooter and pushed as hard as he could to get up some speed. He was able to get the scooter up on the sidewalk at the next driveway indent. The car followed him, speeding drunkenly up the steep hill and then, just at the crest, jumped the curb onto the sidewalk and barreled into him forcefully. With that, the boy really was sailing – through the air. He landed in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk ten feet away, CD case crushed in the bag under his arm, helmet lying beside him, scooter mangled beyond repair.


	2. Chapter One Lombard Street

Chapter One - Lombard Street

The radio was tuned to 107.7, KSAN. It was making him insane. Not the music itself, the music was classic rock and well-written. It was an exceptional instrumental piece by Pink Floyd called _Great Gig in the Sky_. No, it really wasn't the music, he simply wanted to fiddle with the radio until it was on 99.9 or something equally symmetrical, but experience taught him a couple of things; the first being there was nothing broadcast on 99.9, the second that Sharona was in charge in _her_ car while _she_ was driving and today Sharona was driving - as always. _Biting her lip in concentration - as always_, Adrian thought. He'd have known this without looking. In fact, he wasn't looking, per se. He was staring out the window, looking, to all the world and, he hoped, Sharona, like he didn't have a care or a worry in the world. Looking like he was staring blankly, when in fact he was studying every nuance of Sharona's expression in the reflection of her profile in his passenger side window. While he was counting light posts outside the window. So far the counting was coming along nicely, however, another part of his brain was looking for an opening, looking for a way back into a place he'd never thought he'd care to be again. Inside someone's good graces.

They'd had a tiff yesterday; really it was nothing, in his opinion. It certainly wasn't worse than the "elephant incident" as he liked to remember it rather than the "Adrian is an inconsiderate bastard incident" as he was sure Sharona recalled it.

They had been sitting at Benjy's basketball tryouts…in the middle school Benjy went to …on some unhygienic looking bleachers. Frustrated, Adrian had watched the progress of the tryouts, the single-person drills, the one-on-ones and then the two "team" competitions. He'd only just gained an understanding of baseball; he was now completely befuddled by basketball. With an uneasy tilt of his head, Adrian's sponge-like mind wandered back to the setting of their most recent disagreement. He recalled the stale-sweat scent of the gym, the sound of the raucous cheers one overbearing father of one of Benjy's competitors bellowed, the feel of Sharona's arm moving against his as she clapped and cheered for son…it was just a small request. The kind he made on a daily basis. He'd simply asked her to leave Benjy with his sitter when they had to go to his appointment with Kroger.

Sometimes he needed to discuss Kroger with Sharona just as much as he needed to discuss Sharona with Kroger. In any case, he felt awkward…_alright_…more awkward than usual… discussing his therapy in front of a twelve-year-old child. Even if that child was Sharona's son. He was a great kid, as far as germ-factories less than five feet tall went, and Adrian enjoyed his sharp wit – which was much like his mother's. Occasionally, the child's uncomplicated point of view, or an innocent remark helped Adrian resolve a case or see a clue more clearly. It had taken a lot of years for the pain of watching him, dealing with him, learning about him, learning from him, to subside enough to let go of the regret that he and Trudy had not had children. The regret, unlike his quiet survivor guilt, eventually abated. Now, he couldn't imagine a day without Benjy, a story involving Benjy, or an activity centered on Benjy in his life.

The detective turned to look at Benjy's mother then, and frowned in an expression that was part discomfort over the argument and ensuing cold shoulder as much as a reflection of his feelings about Sharona's driving ability. The few lyrics that _Gig_ had went something like "_and I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime. I never said I was frightened of dying."_ Okay, so he was afraid of dying…maybe the music was enough to make him wonder about his sanity getting into Sharona's car when she was out of sorts. It was certainly bringing on images of his own demise.

They were winding down Lombard Street, the most notorious of all of the hilly, twisty and curvy streets in San Francisco. Guide books to the city said that the steep, hilly street was created with sharp curves to switchback down the one-way hill past beautiful Victorian mansions. The street was paved with bricks that jostled the car and Adrian snarled inwardly as he thought of those guide books claiming it was "an amazing site to see." _Sight.__ Sight. Sight._ Lombard Street didn't have a "www" in front of it. The whole techno-world had gone stark raving mad with their spelling disasters. It made him just as queasy to think of the bad grammar and spelling as to imagine the street, no less be subjected to it. At his protest, Sharona claimed it was the shortest route from his apartment to Dr. Kroger's office. He knew she was lying; and she knew he knew. She was trying to torture him, he was certain his death would occur in a car with Sharona driving like a madwoman down the twisty streets and over the hills of San Francisco.

He, with an unusually selfless feeling, wanted to apologize and make amends. It rankled his well-defined sense of order. He didn't like to apologize. He didn't like to be wrong. He didn't like thinking about how other people felt. He didn't like Sharona being angry with him … he could almost smell the anger wafting off of her the way her soft perfume often did. It covered him in waves made of equal parts unhappiness and ire. Words in the form of apology didn't come easily to his lips, as he wasn't often in the position of being wrong. This time he wasn't really wrong either, but he had, perhaps, broached the subject at a bad time or in a way that wasn't as tactful as most humans expected. But he wasn't most humans. The humans he came into contact with either accepted his _differences_ or they shunned him. She should be used to his shortness by now, his sometimes brusque demeanor, his tone, but apparently he still had the power to hurt her feelings. He didn't mean to hurt her because he knew she _was_ human in a way he was quite certain he was not now and never would be again. He also knew she thought otherwise and kept helping him edge towards regaining his humanity, so he had to make things right before she quit – again. She was, very likely, his last hope at having at least a semi-normal life ever again.

He gathered himself, breathed deeply and said, "Sharona, I'm…" as the shrill and disturbing tones of her cell phone _or was it mine?_ began to ring from the depths of her purse on the seat between them. They used the same ringer. Who would have expected Sharona Fleming would have a bent for classical music? But then, who would have expected her to like art house movies, classic seventies rock music, craftsman houses, musical theater and novels by authors as diverse as Pat Conroy and Dan Brown? Who would have… he looked at the ceiling of the car and sighed inwardly. When he looked back down, it was into Sharona's brilliant blue-green eyes, only to find aqua daggers there. The phone continued to warble.

She shot a quick look over in his direction that was along the lines of "I dare ya to answer that" and then her eyes skittered away to her purse and then back to the curves of Lombard Street. He looked at her purse with dread. Thinking about reaching in … and touching god-knew-what… Benjy's half eaten candy bars, used wipes… made him break into a light sweat. However, he didn't want Sharona driving and talking on the cell, that would bring on a waterfall of perspiration which would lead to stains on his pristine shirt which would lead to the dry cleaner…which would lead to three rounds with Mrs. Ling…he mentally shook himself as Sharona said, "Well?" in a tone that was as much a challenge as a question. He rubbed his forehead absently with his left hand to shield the bleak terror in his eyes from her view. This was something he was unaccustomed to doing, he never hid things from Sharona… well, there were _a couple of_ _things_, but he didn't want to scrutinize _them_ at the moment. Lord, he hated to leave a ringing phone unanswered… it upset the balance…but he didn't like talking on phones…he didn't like answering phones… he didn't want to answer this phone. _Deep breaths, deep breaths._

"Good god," Sharona exclaimed with exasperation and reached for the phone.

"No!" Adrian cried and said, "Pull over. Pull over."

"On Lombard Street?" she asked acerbically - exasperated by just the 15 minutes they'd been together. It was a one way, one lane street – there was no "pulling over."

"Alright," Adrian said hesitantly and reached even more hesitantly towards the purse with the unknown interior. Women's purses were as much as mystery to him as was why more people didn't boil their toothbrushes before and after each use.

"That's it!" Sharona said and grabbed Adrian's left hand. Then she plunged his hand into the bag and together, their fingers fumbled around in the confined leather space for a few awkward seconds as the phone went into another chorus of Pachabel's Canon in D. Finally, the vibrating concerto emerged in Sharona's hand and she gave him another of her triumphant "There!" looks. He was getting all too familiar with those today. She flipped it open and held it out to him. He could hear someone saying hello from the shiny silver earpiece. Silver, not black. It was his phone, not Sharona's that had rung, she usually answered both, but today…driving…down Lombard Street…he squared his shoulders, reached for his handkerchief and gingerly took the phone from Sharona while giving her a grimace in return.

Her purse interior hadn't been all that bad – a few oddly shaped items that he felt were probably personal things that he didn't need to know about…but he was still sort of curious. Females mystified him in more ways than the normal ways that women mystified men… and Sharona, with her impatient, terse, armored exterior and caring, supportive, marshmallow interior intrigued him most of all.


	3. Chapter Two The Phone Call

Chapter Two - The Phone Call

The phone slid around about an inch away from his ear as he scuffled with his handkerchief to reposition it and keep his balance as Sharona sped_ down …down… down_.

"For Pete's sake, it's _your_ phone," Sharona exclaimed as she watched him struggle out of the corner of her eye.

"Monk?!" came Stottlemeyer's voice from the earpiece. He was yelling. He sounded upset. But not at Monk and not with his usual "Monk-type" frustration… just genuinely upset. Like when his wife, Karen, had nearly been killed the year before last.

"Monk?" Stottlemeyer yelled again.

"Here. I-I'm here. What is it?"

"Are you with Sharona?"

"Yes, of course. Why? What's happening?" he asked with his preternatural senses kicking into high gear as dread crept up his spine.

"Monk -- it's Benjy. There's been an accident. Apparently he was on his scooter and he was hit by a car."

"What?" Monk rasped with dread, which drew a curious glance from Sharona. _It must be a case in a hospital_, she thought caustically, picturing Adrian trying to sort his phobias about blood, germs, fluorescent lights and ceiling tiles into little compartments of his incredible brain in an effort to control his need to rabbit away and hide in his apartment. Immediately after the thoughts came, the remorse followed. She didn't like being insensitive about his problems… but sometimes he made her crazy.

"Worse… it doesn't quite look like it was accidental." Stottlemeyer continued into Adrian's ear, "Eyewitnesses said that the car seemed to actually be chasing him. In fact, he was hit on the sidewalk… the car sped away… no license plates, sketchy eye-witness accounts. Get here quick."

"Get where?"

"The university children's hospital. Divisadero Street. Don't freak Sharona out, but Benjy's in bad shape."

"Okay, alright. We're – we're on our way." He hung up without saying goodbye. They were on their way in that direction anyway. _What can I tell Sharona?_

Sharona asked, "Adrian… Adrian what is it?"

Unable to lie, afraid to tell the truth, Adrian said nothing until the end of Lombard Street was in view. The Russian Hill section of San Francisco was a treacherous area – the steep grade was dangerous on a good day. And this day had just gone from bad to terrible. He couldn't distract her until they reached Leavenworth Street. Sharona shrugged and went back to navigating the twists and curves, as Adrian courageously ignored both the lampposts and the speed at which she drove.

When they reached the turn, Adrian said, "Sharona. Pull over. Now." It was a command, not a request, and she responded quickly and without protest. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She turned onto Leavenworth Street and put her hazard lights on as she parked against the curb.

_All my__ fault. All my fault. All my fault. _Adrian thought as Sharona pulled the car to a stop. _ How do I say this? How do I tell her?_

"Adrian, what is it? I know that was Stottlemeyer, I heard him yelling 'hello' and your name. Is someone dead?" He fidgeted, shot his cuffs under the sleeves of his jacket, and squared his shoulders again. Ominous signs, all. When he didn't answer, she frowned. Then she panicked. "Adrian? Oh my god, it's Benjy isn't it?" She seemed to have that same thing he had – that sixth sense, but it only seemed to work when it involved Benjy… _or me_, he realized belatedly.

"Y-Yes. I don't know the… the details, but Stottlemeyer said we have to get to the hospital. Benjy was hit by a car."

"He was what?"

"A-Apparently he was on his scooter. The car ran into him and sped away."

Sharona sat still for a moment, feeling the car's engine hum, not believing what she'd heard – knowing that Adrian had spoken English, he had used words she understood in individual ways but when they were strung together like that they just didn't make sense. Benjy was with his sitter. She'd only left him a half-hour before with promises to be home by six forty-five. Which was just over an hour from now. In a matter of seconds Adrian watched the play of emotions from confusion to disbelief to fear dance across Sharona's face. He did the least expected but the most helpful thing he could think of doing, he pulled her towards him and hugged her fiercely, although his insides were quivering and his hands were shaking from the effort. "He'll be okay, he'll … he'll be okay," he whispered into her soft golden curls, "He has to be." _My fault… my fault …my fault._


	4. Chapter Three USFMC

Chapter Three - USFMC

Mt. Zion Children's Hospital

How they made it to the hospital in anything other than an ambulance was purely a miracle in Adrian's mind. Sharona's haphazard driving already caused him anxiety of the highest order, so this version of her driving, somewhat like the erratic, frantic prowling of a distressed mother lioness trying to reach her cub, nearly drove him to close his eyes and pray – something he hadn't managed to do since he lost Trudy. Instead, he closed his eyes and hoped for the best on the short ride from the place they had stopped to the hospital. He'd offered to drive, the offer was met with a resounding "NO!" and he had felt a moment of relief until the car started moving again. When they arrived, Sharona threw the car into the nearest empty space in her line of vision, slapped the "SFPD On Duty" sign that Stottlemeyer had recently given her in the windshield and broke into a dead run as soon as she locked the doors. Leaving the car crookedly in the loading zone ratcheted up Adrian's anxiety to the point where he nearly opened the top button of his starched, windowpane-check shirt, but he refrained. When he turned to point out the sloppy parking situation, Sharona was gone.

He quickly moved to follow her, still fretting about the car until he confronted the face of the hospital and its entrance. The sliding doors gave him a moment of terror until he saw an old fashioned door beside them that said "pull" on its handle. He grabbed the grip with his handkerchief-covered hand and hurried inside. He caught up with Sharona as she was being led through another doorway into the rear section of the emergency room. He followed silently, negotiating his way over mysterious stains on the tile floor and desperately trying not to make eye contact with the various bodily fluids spilling from people in the rooms and halls of the emergency room's wards; he closed his ears to the moans and other sounds as he tried not to add visuals to the audio in his mind.

When they finally found Benjy, Sharona, a nurse, a woman Monk thought of as unbreakable – did the unthinkable – she nearly fainted. Ever attuned to the world around him, when she swayed, it was Adrian who steadied her. He stood directly behind her like a shadow, holding her up - his chest against her back. It was the most intimate contact he'd had with a woman in more years than he could comfortably count, but he didn't stop to look at the feelings the contact aroused, because the sight in front of him made that train of thought ditch its track. Bruised and bloodied, Benjy looked very small in the large bed. He was attached to various machines and wires each measuring, helping, and calculating. The most ominous of the machines seemed to be doing his breathing for him. A memory of the apparatus flashed fleetingly in Adrian's mind and he shuddered involuntarily – recalling the anguish of watching someone dying while a machine did _her_… he shook his head to clear it of the past…_their_ breathing. Stottlemeyer and Disher approached from the nurses' station with Benjy's sitter, Marjorie. The girl was visibly distraught and shaken with fear and remorse.

The doctor pulled Sharona closer to Benjy and filled her in and Marjorie followed like a teenage shadow. Adrian couldn't hear the words, but he watched as the remaining color in Sharona's cheeks drained away. Marjorie stood beside Sharona, hand on her arm, to steady her, with eyes red from crying, she was softly repeating her apology over and over without thinking – somewhat like a mantra.

"Monk," said Stottlemeyer, "I need you on this."

Adrian held up a hand sending a "just a moment" type signal, and watched Sharona approach him.

"Adrian," Sharona began in a hesitant tone, "Benjy isn't breathing on his own. His lungs are incapable of helping him breathe without that machine," she gestured over at the contraption that starred in many of Adrian's worst nightmares. "They've put him in a drug-induced state of unconsciousness so he doesn't try to fight the machine. He is bleeding internally, and they have to stabilize him before they can do surgery. He has a few broken ribs; one arm and one leg are broken. His liver has damage, one lung is collapsed and one of his kidneys is...is…perforated." She bit her lip to try and stem the tide of tears she felt gathering behind her eyes. "God, he was awake…awake! He must have been in shock and terrible pain when they brought him in for them to do this to him." She looked up at him through the tears that had broken free against her will and Adrian cringed inwardly at the thought of the suffering that Benjy might have had to deal with while he was conscious, and his stomach lurched when he faced the distress Sharona was feeling too. "He also has a linear non-displaced fracture of his skull. They're not sure about… b-brain… d-damage yet." More tears coursed silently down her cheek.

It was all Adrian could do to listen to the litany and not want to scream. Instead he said calmly, "Wasn't he wearing his helmet?"

"They found it near him, so I guess it fell off of his head."

"Maybe he didn't close the clasp." Adrian frowned, remembering admonishing Benjy about that very habit the previous week. "I've seen him do that."

"I know, I always remind him…" she trailed off, and sobbed again.

"He's a strong boy, Sharona… he's in good shape, and he's healthy. He's in caring hands here… he'll be okay, he'll be okay." He touched her shoulder gently, trying to let her know that he was upset and wanted to help. What he really wanted was to hold her, and, he noted with surprise, to be the one completely in charge - completely strong, competent and appropriate. But there were spectators, and he could barely touch her when they were alone for fear of making a fool of himself, he certainly wasn't going to chance it with the doctor, Marjorie, Leland and Disher standing right there.

To break the awkward silence that had descended as the assemblage watched Monk and Sharona try to reach out to each other, Stottlemeyer said, "Listen to Monk, Sharona. He's right. I'm going to call Karen and have her come here to stay with you. Can we call Gail? Your mom?"

"No…no, I want …I want," she stuttered and looked beseechingly up through her wet lashes at Adrian, wanting him, knowing he wouldn't – _no, couldn't_ - stay. Not knowing that he was torn in two. "… I want to stay here. Alone. Alone with Benjy. I'll be okay. Really." No one believed her, but no one was going to voice their disbelief or concern. To many of them, this was the first time Sharona seemed fragile and no one wanted to shatter her by arguing with her. They submitted to her wishes and one by one they drifted away from Sharona and Adrian as they stared deeply into each others eyes. Both aching and reaching for something that they were afraid wasn't really there. Stottlemeyer wondered when the hell they'd wake up and do more than just struggle with their feelings and act on them. _Maybe now just wasn't the time, although if ever there was a time they needed each other…_ he shook his head sadly and turned towards the door with a shrug.

Adrian was afraid to leave Sharona in case Benjy took a turn for the worse, but Disher and Stottlemeyer wanted him at the scene of the accident. He shifted his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet and felt his responsibilities heavily for the first time in a long time.

He looked into Sharona's eyes and felt her agony, her guilt and his own. He watched her take on the responsibility for this the way she always took responsibility for everything in all of their lives. It was as if she was donning a piece of heavy clothing. She could have been the poster-child for social responsibility; between him, the consulting work, and Benjy it was like two or three full-time jobs. He'd recently realized, though, that Sharona, her son and the work were responsibilities he also carried – and when he realized it, he'd felt good about it. Only, it wasn't anything he'd done alone. Day-to-day, month-by-month, she'd made it easy for him, she made it seem as though he wasn't responsible for anything, while all the time she'd been making it so painless for him to become accountable again. Working with him in small ways towards owning his responsibilities, she'd re-taught him that responsibility wasn't a burden to be feared, nor was it as overwhelming as he might have thought it was six years earlier. It was still a struggle; the burden of decision making wasn't a task he'd learned to accept quite yet. He looked from Stottlemeyer's retreating form to Sharona's tear-streaked face to Benjy- helpless and still and back to Sharona; looking for a decision that he couldn't make alone. Hell, he couldn't decide what to eat for lunch…how would he decide to leave or not?

Finally, Sharona, seeing through her own pain and into his, said in a whisper, "Go. Go find out… for Benjy… there's nothing you can do here." She turned from him as his heart cried out silently, _But__ what about you? I don't want to leave you. _Then,_ What about me? _His brain thought petulantly,_ I can't work without you, I need you. _And even as he thought it, he saw the irrational fears of his being alone being just that – irrational. More than irrational – selfish and wrong-headed. He gathered himself and readjusted his jacket_. I may need you, Sharona, but right now you need me more. I'm going to do this for you_. With a last look of reassurance to Sharona, he nodded at Stottlemeyer and Disher and followed them out the door.

---------------------------------------------

Several frustrating and pointless hours later, Adrian returned to the hospital, and found that Benjy had been moved from the ER to ICU. Adrian looked across Benjy's bed at his dozing mother. Sharona was curled up in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position. Her head was propped at an awkward angle and her legs were tucked underneath her small frame. Through the window, one of few windows he'd ever seen in an ICU, the backdrop of the dark sky and the city lights formed a halo around her golden curls.

Adrian looked back to the boy in the bed. Except for the bruises that were various shades of the rainbow, Benjy's pale face blended into the sheets. The pallor of the perpetually tan and smiling face that Adrian had unknowingly loved almost as long as he'd known the boy was quite nearly as frightening as the assortment of machines and tubes that were attached to Benjy in different places. He looked up from Benjy's face to find Sharona blinking the sleep from her eyes. It took a moment, but the anguish and the pain came back to her in a sudden rush and Adrian could see the despair deepen her frown. But, in what he had come to think of as typical "Sharona-style," she visibly steeled herself and silently stood up. Quickly, she stretched with feline grace, kissed her son's scraped and purplish cheek, and absently patted Adrian on the shoulder as she headed straight for the chart on the foot of Benjy's hospital bed. She consulted her watch to see how often he was being monitored and, Adrian intuitively knew, for how long she'd slept.

As he watched her read, her delicately arched eyebrows drew together and the fine lines that appeared every so often above the bridge of her nose deepened. He had the urge to reach out and smooth the shallow furrows with the tip of his finger or to press his lips to the spot. The thought came unexpectedly from somewhere deep inside of him – he was so shocked that, involuntarily, he stepped back from her. As footsteps approached, she hurriedly put the chart back in its place… family members were not supposed to look at the medical charts of patients, nurse or not. Sharona was an RN and had the experience it took to understand what she was seeing although she hadn't done hospital work in a while. Nursing, she'd once told him, registered or practical, was like that – you learned a lot of what you knew by living through things with the people and the families of people for whom you cared rather than in books. He watched every movement she made, studying her, hoping she could feel his unvoiced concern and caring. She looked back over her shoulder at Adrian and shrugged hopelessly.

"No change." He frowned and nodded in response to her words. The lines around his mouth deepened with the frown. Adrian didn't want to tell her that he hadn't needed a chart to tell him that.

When Benjy's nurse walked in, Sharona pulled Adrian outside the ICU and down on the padded bench on the other side of the glass-walled room and said, "Tell me what you found out."

"Not much, but I asked Stottlemeyer and Disher to have the eyewitness meet back tomorrow at the same time the … the accident happened. I want to place them, see the situation in...uh...well, _in situ_…" he trailed off lamely. He couldn't tell her about the stains on the sidewalk… made by Benjy's blood.

"Were there many witnesses?" she asked. She knew their neighbor, Mr. Jacobs had been a witness, but he'd been a couple of blocks away… it was he who'd identified Benjy for the authorities when the ambulance arrived.

"Yeah...yeah. But that means… you know… a lot of points of view."

She nodded; she hadn't worked with him for this long and not understood that too many witnesses could often be as bad for solving a crime as too few. "I know, but you'll try, right?" she asked in a timid and unsure tone he'd never heard from her before. Adrian knew this woman like he'd never known another, including Trudy, but he never acknowledged, even to himself, that she could possibly be fragile or less than perfectly strong. It terrified him deeply to realize that underneath it all, Sharona was as vulnerable as he, she just hid it better most of the time. This wasn't one of those times.

"Of course I will…of course." He raised his hand as if to touch her, but slid backward on the bench instead. She smiled over at him the way a disappointed teacher would look at an exceptionally gifted but underachieving student. She stood, turned on her heel, and went back to her post at Benjy's bedside. Adrian settled in, crossed his arms over his chest and took up residence on the bench just outside the transparent walls of the ICU.


	5. Chapter Four Crime Scene

Chapter Four - Crime Scene

The following day, Adrian gathered the eye witnesses and placed them where they'd been during Benjy's accident. The street was closed, Disher was acting as the driver who'd hit Benjy. He was behind the wheel of a dark blue, police-issue Ford Crown Victoria. To Adrian it looked exactly like the one Stottlemeyer had driven when Adrian had become the reluctant Leland's partner several years prior to his promotion to Captain. It also reminded Monk that they needed to see the results of the paint match. It might be a pointer to the exact car that hit Benjy. He hoped the results showed something unusual or blatantly different.

Adrian was amazed, but not completely surprised by what he heard from the witnesses. He listened to each person with growing consternation. The same time of day, same location, same accident, and he got twenty different opinions… from the average eye witness accounts…"a dark car," or

"Late model, American car" or

"Maybe maroon or burgundy…you know, deep purple" or

"No idea about a plate, I ran to call 911" … to the blatant lie,

"There was no one in the car" …from the possible,

"The car came from south of Market Street"… to the bizarre,

"A very tiny person was driving; I could only see the top of a head with a baseball cap on." Sometimes too many clues were definitely worse than too few.

The eye witnesses seemed to be a dead end. Stottlemeyer organized a sweep of the local body shops looking for a purple or burgundy late model American car that needed repairs done without insurance claims and that had been asked for quickly. Disher was now driving Monk to the first shop on the list given to him by the officers who were doing advance site visits. They drove in silence, both thinking of Benjy and too uptight and worried to speak. The look Monk had shot Randy when they started out and Randy began chattering was enough to send the young lieutenant into his own head for a change. Randy was a moderately careful driver, despite his botched car chases, and Monk appreciated that with a little "encouragement" he could be quiet now and then too. He let his mind wander.

_Think, __Adrian__, think_. He had to try and coldly, rationally, sort the few facts that they had. He had to try to observe dispassionately and with an objective eye. When all he really wanted to do was sit with Sharona at Benjy's bedside, even though it meant returning to the hospital… and going inside… and being in the presence of germs. Rationally, he knew that wasn't gong to help any of them. _But, when was the last time that I had a rational thought…eight years? Ten? Well, then, this was a first for the millennium. _He mentally shook himself. _Okay_. He breathed out and tried to focus. _Obvious facts: Benjy was somewhere he wouldn't ordinarily have been, so he either was the target_, which Adrian almost dismissed out of hand, _who would want to hurt Benjy?_ O_r was this just a random accident_?

Something bothered him about each of these scenarios, and as his companion Randy might have said, were he to speak, "Your 'spidey-sense' is tingling, Monk." Not completely comfortable with the allusion to spiders, or superheroes for that matter, Adrian rolled his shoulders, and tried to clear his head. He had the sense that this wasn't a random accident. Now the question truly was: Who would hurt a child and why? To hurt or get to Sharona? To warn her about something? Who would gain from hurting Sharona? She had nothing to give anyone who would blackmail her…and over what? The pictures were the only thing she'd had to hide…he hoped. He'd have to ask her – as painful as it might be for both of them. The questions raced around his brain and he felt the onset of a headache explode behind his eyes. He rubbed them with his left hand then looked up as he was jolted around in his seat. The seat belt pushed him back down. The car had stopped short outside of "Bobby's Body Shop."

"Sorry. Here we are." Randy said.

"Why are we here? How did they decide this was a place we should – st-stop?" Adrian replied as he looked at the unsavory neighborhood and the burly men smoking outside the shop, who surely, upon closer inspection, would have grease under their fingernails.

"Well, it's a crappy neighborhood and this is the type of establishment that's been know to 'chop' cars or play with the insurance companies."

"Al-alright. No. No, you go, I'll keep look out."

"For what?"

"Burgundy cars?" Adrian shrugged and tilted his head, decidedly uncomfortable.

"Monk…" Randy said with just the same amount of kindly exasperation he'd seen Sharona use with great success. "It's for Benjy and Sharona," he added when the kindly exasperation route didn't work.

Monk shrugged, rolled his right shoulder uneasily and reached for the door handle with a handkerchief covered hand.

They didn't find out too much information from the shop's namesake, Bobby, or any of his questionable, both in the legal sense and the intellectual sense, employees. The shop had given him the heebie jeebies. Calendars with scantily clad or completely unclad women hanging crookedly, the glass of the office windows caked with years of cigarette smoke residue and fingerprints… Adrian shuddered at the memory. He couldn't straighten, everything was too filthy. He couldn't clean; nothing came to hand to clean with…therefore, he couldn't think. Eventually, Randy took the interviews into the street, just so Adrian could concentrate. After all of the effort, it was barely worth it. The second shop on the list was much the same. Appalling in every sense.

By the time they reached the third shop, Adrian felt like he was going to lose his mind completely, but to his surprise, they found that the third shop, Al's Auto Appeal was …clean. Organized. They went inside and as Randy repeated his previous spiel, asked for the owner and flashed his shiny badge, resentment flashed briefly through Monk's mind once again.

A tall redhead came out, wiping her hands on a yellow shop rag. She held out her hand to Disher and said "Hi. Lieutenant Disher? I'm Al."

"Al?" Adrian piped up.

She turned her green gaze on him and said, "Yeah. Short for Alison. Alison Willis. I'm the owner of this shop, you were looking for me? I thought my husband told you everything there was to know this afternoon." She held out her hand to Adrian and he just ignored it.

"We were told you weren't here at the time, so we wanted to follow up in – in person." Adrian fixed his gaze on her hands; there was a slash of burgundy paint on the back of her left hand.

"Well, as my husband told you, we haven't had any cars matching the description with the particulars you were interested in."

"I don't believe you," he said matter-of-factly, as Randy stepped back slightly and watched him do his "Monk" thing.

Adrian pointedly looked at the back of Ms. Willis' hand, "You appear to have had an accident yourself…with some burgundy paint."

She looked down at her hand and laughed. "Mr…. ah…"

"Monk," Disher supplied helpfully.

"Mr. Monk," the red head laughed again, "Come with me."

They followed her to her office and found an approximately three-year-old version of Alison sitting at a small table with an upturned bottle of nail polish on the table next to her crayons and there were burgundy stains on the child's white pinafore dress, one sock, in her auburn hair, and a large maroon scar on the beige carpet.

"This is my daughter, Melanie. She gets into everything and then everything gets on to her…" She bent to retrieve a piece of green crayon from the rug, even if the damage had already been done.

"I see," said Adrian, confidence in his observation skills waning. _Just like when Trudy died, I'm not thinking clearly_ he lamented wordlessly. _I'm ready to jump at the slightest evidence, I can't look beyond the obvious._ Disher was ready to wrap it up, Adrian could tell from his impatient stance. After exchanging a few more inane pleasantries, Disher ushered them out the door. Adrian didn't utter another word. He looked over his shoulder at Alison Willis with something akin to disappointment mixed with uneasy suspicion but they took their leave to get to the next stops on the list. A nagging feeling troubled him. That "spidey-sense" thing that Randy yammered about still felt strong inside him. Something was off at Al's Auto Appeal – he knew it, but was unable to pinpoint what exactly bothered him. All he knew was the pat and perfect answers he'd received there were as unsettling as the disorder and chaos of all of the other shops.

It was late in the evening when Disher dropped him back at the hospital after they stopped at the last shops on the list, each with about the same amount of success as the first few. With promises to faithfully pick him up while the investigation was on going and then drop him at the hospital when all possible work had been exhausted for the day, Randy took his leave. Adrian looked up at the façade of the hospital and trembled inside. _I hate hospitals_, he reminded himself – as if he'd needed the memory prompt. But Sharona and Benjy were inside, and the only way to see them was to be inside with them. He briefly thought about going home to get some sleep, he realized that Sharona might need the same, and probably the only way she'd get it was if someone else – someone she trusted - sat with Benjy through the night. It scared him that he could know what her thoughts on this subject would be and that he was absolutely certain in his knowledge. He didn't appreciate, or stop to think about how well he really knew her until this tragedy had occurred. _Maybe I just took it for granted all of these years_.

If he'd thought more about it, instead of acting on emotion, he'd have been more petrified to realize that he'd given up his warm bed and his own personal needs and comfort to help Sharona again. The fact that this was a huge leap for him, didn't register as much as the need to help her did. Resolutely, he went to be the sentry that Sharona and Benjy needed.

Stottlemeyer had guaranteed Adrian that he would have a car service or a uniformed officer to bring him home after he'd spent some time at the hospital each night, and he was good as his word. Although he hated to leave Sharona sitting by Benjy's bedside day and night, he had to work on the investigation before what little that had to go on got too cold. As the days passed, frustration mounted. Neither of them could do anything for Benjy, and as Adrian was the trio's sole support, he grasped that he needed to keep getting some sleep, working and being paid by the SFPD in order to pay Sharona so she could pay the medical bills. He also needed to solve this crime – to punish the person responsible – this was all he could do for them. He hoped she understood why he kept leaving. But as the days passed, her frustration mounted both with the medical profession and the law enforcement profession, which for the moment, unfortunately seemed to include him.

A week passed, then two. March turned into April. Benjy's drug induced coma had allowed some stabilization the first night, but he'd had two harrowing surgeries the next day… one to repair his perforated right kidney and his fractured liver, then, another to repair some internal bleeding being caused by the damage to his ribcage. His lung re-inflated about two days after that, but he was still on a ventilator and still comatose by design. The doctors were telling Sharona that they were now "cautiously optimistic" that they could raise Benjy to a shallow level of unconsciousness the next morning and then allow him to fight his way to the surface of the man-made coma later in the day. But while Benjy might have been slowly improving, Adrian saw that his mother was slowly deteriorating.

Sharona looked exhausted and thinner than ever. In Adrian's estimation, she'd been perfect before, now she was making herself sick. He distressed himself further by realizing he was able to compare the current Sharona with the mental pictures of her that he subconsciously carried everywhere. _Where had these snapshots come from? Why were they so imbedded into my memory?_ Sharona laughing – eyes sparkling, Sharona angry – eyes snapping, Sharona dressed for a date that he interrupted, Sharona making a snow angel when they visited New Jersey, Sharona full of fury for him and sharing his anguish when things with the department didn't go his way, Sharona engrossed in a book, Sharona cooking dinner for him and Benjy, Sharona helping Benjy with his homework, while she kept one eye out on him, too.

Suddenly, the words to a song that Sharona often sang and hummed around the house or in the car tumbled into his mind. _"I know you by heart; you're so much a part of me; I know you by heart... can't you see?"_ It was from one of those sob-fest movies she liked…_Beaches_? _Maybe._ All he recalled, aside from the song, was that it was about best friends who through years and years were loyal and dependable – through good times and bad. It dismayed him to think of all of the ways Sharona had stood by him, stood up for him and even took a stand against him, when it was for his own good. He'd never once thought about reciprocating until now. In so many ways other than the literal ones she'd been his nurse, his employee, his friend, his partner, his confidante, his cheerleader… and he couldn't remember depending on someone more, or being surer of someone's loyalty and understanding. He needed to do that for her now. He had to make her sure of his loyalty and his ability to support her and help her. He needed to be the one who solved this case, and who held her when she cried…no matter what it cost him emotionally to do it.

She'd had terrible nightmares that he'd witnessed in those first nights after the accident. She slept fitfully, curled up on a waiting room couch, crying in her sleep, calling for Benjy, calling Adrian's name too. He woke her gently each time, and the first few times she had clung to him, disoriented, and she had continued to cry because the nightmare had come true and she was now living the horror both in her sleep and in her waking. She'd pull away from him to stand alone and silently at the window, contemplating something he either couldn't see or that was simply inside her own head, leaving him with a shirt damp with her tears and a feeling of helplessness. In those moments, he didn't know what he wanted more – a dry shirt or to be physically able to go to her, wrap his arms around her and hold her the way she had wrapped her arms around herself, rocking noiselessly to hold it together. She stopped clinging after the fourth or fifth nightmare and actually turned away from him… he was uncertain if it was because she was repulsed by needing him, the person whom she faulted for the accident, or because she understood that even in her greatest despair and need it wasn't he that could comfort her. He agonized over that – knowing it was only his own fault – his inability to get around his own fears - that Sharona felt she couldn't turn to him for comfort and support.

Once her mother, Cheryl, had come from New Jersey, he stopped hanging around late at night and got a uniform to drive him home each day. But something else gnawed at him, so the second night after Benjy's accident he paid a private security firm a huge sum of money to keep an eye on Sharona and Benjy when he had to leave. _What if, like Trudy, this was some twisted effort to get at him?_ It wasn't his ego that spoke to him, telling him to do this, making Benjy's tragedy about himself, because in actuality, he still had no idea if he was to blame for Trudy's death, but he knew either way it was his fault that Benjy had been in the right place and time to be hurt. So if it was an attack on him or simply an accident, he was still to blame. He had no tangible proof of either but he was leaning heavily towards the accident being a deliberate act. In any case, he wanted someone to watch over them when he was away from them. The un-uniformed men took positions around the ICU, feigning visitation so that Sharona wouldn't notice their presence. It sort of saddened Monk that in the state she was in, Sharona barely gave a passing glance to the handsome men he knew that she'd flirt with openly on any other day. On the other hand, he mentally noted to call the security firm and ask for less… less virile-looking guards. Each night the guards watched over the people he couldn't admit, even to himself, that he loved, while he tossed and turned in his bed – sheets soggy with sweat from his own set of nightmares. He dreamed about losing Trudy over and over, and now he dreamed of Benjy tossed through the air, bleeding, broken on the ground and Sharona crying without end.

In the two weeks since the accident nothing had happened that was unusual, strange or extraordinary. The guards were bored and Monk was frustrated because the major happenings were visitors that came and went. Most of those weren't let anywhere near the ICU, except Sharona and him, and even they couldn't stay for too long. Of course, he didn't want anything to happen to Benjy or Sharona, but if something was tried, at least they'd solve or be closer to solving the case.

Earlier, one of the guards had alerted him to a note that had been left at the nurse's station for Benjy. It had been saved until he had arrived after a long day that led nowhere. It would have to be given to the police for fingerprinting, eliminating the nurse who had handled it and anyone else who'd had contact with it. He checked on Benjy and then discretely slipped from the room to check-in with the guards. He'd looked at the note through the plastic evidence bag into which it had been tucked. The folded note had a fingerprint on the back of it in a medium that could have been chocolate – or blood, or any other sticky, dark brown substance. On the folded note's cover it said, "Benjy" in a square and regular handwriting… it was almost too perfect. He maneuvered the evidence bag so he could open the note without touching it. On the inside it said simply, "H." Adrian puzzled over it and couldn't figure out what it meant. He slipped it into his pocket and went back in to sit with Sharona.

Now, hours later, he remembered it and he rose from his damp sheets and looked in the pocket of the jacket he'd worn earlier and placed in the dry cleaning hamper. He stared at the note, as if willing it to give up its secrets.


	6. Chapter Five Awakenings

Chapter Five - Awakenings

The boy in the bed blinked several times and tried to focus. The room was bright white and it hurt to try to look around. He had a monstrous headache and he hurt in other places that he couldn't really pinpoint, there were a lot of spots that were hurting. His throat felt dry and rough, his lips cracked and sore. He tried to make a noise, but couldn't seem to make his lips or throat obey his mind. _Where am I?_ He wondered. _What's wrong with me? _Something moved in his line of vision, but he couldn't concentrate and make sense of the blurry shapes around him.

Adrian walked into see that Sharona wasn't in her chair, but once again staring at the blazing sun that seemed to be just beyond the window. The set of her shoulders and her crossed arms told him she was alright or at least hanging on. Her narrow shoulders were straight and even, not slumped and defeated. Once more, her courage and her strength of will stunned him. That was something he truly admired about her – the stubborn determination and belief in the positive outcome of most anything. She tinged her positivism with caution when necessary, but mostly to protect him or Benjy from getting their hopes dashed on the rocks of failure. He sighed softly and she acknowledged his presence without turning.

"Hi."

"Morning," he replied. She didn't move or give any other indication that she welcomed his company or wanted to see him. He was tired from his sleepless night and he was feeling grouchy and not willing to pander to Sharona's mood. He shrugged uncomfortably while he sulked at the continued strain between them. He turned with the thought that he would sit next to Benjy for a while and ignore her until she wanted to speak to him. When he settled himself, he rearranged the items on the low table beside him, managed to get the trash into the bin without touching it, and then he looked at Benjy. His intentions of ignoring Sharona went right out the window.

"Sha..Sharona…"

"Hm?" She responded absently.

"Sharona," he said with more urgency.

"Adrian, what?" she asked with impatience and irritation. This morning, this month, this waiting was an endless chasm of impatience and irritation.

"I think you should… should look..." he didn't finish before she struck.

She whirled from the window, and lashed out at him, "Look at what Adrian? At my son, who is barely alive, or at the man who can't find the person who did this or maybe I should look in the mirror at the image of a terrible mother who allowed it to happen in the first place?" Immediately, regret for the hurtful words washed through her when she saw the pain she'd inflicted with her sharp, thoughtless tongue.

Adrian winced as if she'd struck him physically. But the wince wasn't because she'd hurt him, nor because of the truth she'd spoken about him but rather because of what she said about herself. He didn't mind when she pounced on him, it was a sign that she considered him somewhat normal; able to withstand her fury, but when she attacked herself… it hurt him endlessly. He actually physically ached when she was self-deprecating.

With rarely seen compassion and his basic brand of stoicism, he replied to her anger, "No Sharona, look and say good morning to your son." All thoughts of sleep deprivation and bad humor gone from his mind, as happiness began to course through him.

Her brow knit in confusion. She looked from Adrian's kind, understanding expression to Benjy's face and then back at Adrian. Her face transformed immediately.

Her expression was indescribable. The joy, the love, and the relief were apparent in equal parts. His heart contracted painfully as he witnessed the change from anger to elation. Everything she was thinking and feeling was evident in her expression and he wished just once, she'd look at him and he'd be able to see that kind of joy.

"Benjy," she said tentatively as she moved close to the bed, inserting herself between Adrian and Benjy. He groaned a little in response to her voice and Sharona reached back for Adrian's hand. He gave it to her without hesitation and he felt her squeeze it tightly. He pressed hers in return. With her free hand she reached for Benjy's unbroken, but scratched and bruised hand. They stayed that way, the three of them connected for a long moment.

"Mom," Benjy croaked, throat burning.

"I'm here, honey. I'm here. Don't talk… Just try to focus on me."

Adrian dropped Sharona's hand and hurriedly reached for the pitcher, poured some water into a plastic cup and plucked a straw from the bedside tray. While Sharona tried to get Benjy to center his gaze on her, Adrian put the straw to Benjy's lips. Sharona pushed the emergency call button by the bedside and then smiled ruefully over at Adrian.

"I'm sorry for…for before…I was out of line. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Sharona, it's okay."

"Thank you…" she said with sincere gratitude. "I'm … I'm…glad you're here."

"Me too," he said simply.

Benjy sipped the water.

"Slowly, Benjy," Sharona said gently.

"Mom? Mr. Monk?" he finally rasped, throat still raw from the intubations and the ventilator.

"Hi, sweetheart. We're here."

"Here?" he wondered where here was.

"Yes honey, you're in the hospital. There was an accident," Benjy slowly turned his aching head and looked back and forth as their faces swam blurrily in front of him. His eyes rolled, threatening another bout with unconsciousness.

"Benjy? Benjy! Stay with us." Adrian said insistently.

The doctor and a nurse hurried into the room then and asked Sharona and Adrian to leave so they could examine Benjy.

"He woke up. He said our names."

"That's great, Ms. Fleming," replied the doctor, "But we still need you to leave for a few moments."

"But..." Sharona, the nurse, the mother, started to argue, but Adrian put his hand to the small of her back and guided her to the hallway. They paced separately, passing on each return trip, each pausing to look into Benjy's room to see if they could discern what was going on inside.

"He's going to be scared if I'm…" she paused. Benji had asked for _both_ of them just now, so she amended with a meaningful smile, "If _we're_ not there."

"He'll be okay; he's in great hands with Dr. Brewer. You know that. You've trusted him this far. Give him a few minutes, before you jump on him." He made a sardonic face and gave her a small smile to show he was trying to be humorous.

"You're right. I know you're right. Oh, Adrian… he woke up, he looked at me. He's going to be okay, isn't he?" He nodded and a tear of relief slid down her cheek. He'd thought there couldn't possibly be any more tears on reserve inside of her after the amount she'd cried in the past few weeks – more than he believed she'd cried all put together since he knew her. Sharona wasn't a "crier." He smiled, nodded again slightly, and without thinking, held out his arms to her. Gratefully, she went into them and pressed against him. Absorbing his comfort and support like it was the air she needed to breathe. He swallowed with difficulty, she felt so right in his arms, as if it were where she belonged.

"I tried to keep believing, but-but it was so hard," she sniffed quietly.

"I know, I know. You've been very brave."

"No, not really. I just couldn't imagine what I would do – if… if he died. I don't know what I would have done."

"Sharona, you, of all people, know that you would have mourned and then put your life back together after a while."

"It would have been impossible."

"For some of us. But not for you, Sharona. You… you are a strong woman – a survivor." He held her closer and rubbed her back in small, soothing circles, the way she often did for him. His cheek was pressed against the soft tendrils of her blonde curls and the smooth skin of her temple. He breathed in her simple, floral scent and once again swallowed with a struggle. He closed his eyes, composed himself, and said softly into her ear, "Let's not dwell on that. He woke up. He's healing. He'll come back to you… to us… and eventually we'll all leave this nightmare behind." She nodded against his shoulder, and his sense of contentment with her in his arms increased. Being able to comfort her, calm her, and make promises to her, ones he now knew with certainty would come true, filled him with pleasure.

"Ms. Fleming?" the nurse quietly interrupted the moment of peace and effortless normalcy between them.

"Yes?" she said as she wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands, still held firmly in Adrian's warm embrace.

"Dr. Brewer said you can come back in. Benjy's asking for you. Both of you." The nurse smiled over at both of them, sorry to have interrupted what looked to be a very intimate moment. They stepped back from each other quickly; both dazed by the way they'd been fused together for those few minutes. Each tried to quickly assimilate the feelings of longing that had been stirred... as well as something that edged over into contentment and ease. Feelings stirred that, for form's sake, would have to be just as quickly disregarded by each in order to preserve the status quo. Feelings stirred that would be disregarded as simply a momentary lapse of defenses, or good sense, in context of the highly-charged emotional situation. Without another word, they walked back into Benjy's room, the moment forgotten by their minds, if not by their hearts.

Benjy was foggy that first day – in and out of wakefulness, Stottlemeyer and Disher came in and they took turns questioning Benjy with Monk hovering in the background, listening; but the child fell asleep in the middle of the questioning, almost right in the middle of a sentence. At first, Adrian worried that he'd lapsed back into unconsciousness, but the nurse he'd all but dragged into the room assured him that Benjy was simply asleep. It didn't really matter; Benjy didn't seem to be able to remember much. He seemed to recall being on his scooter, and even being hit, but not what he saw just before the accident.

While they waited for Benjy to wake again, Disher went to make calls, Stottlemeyer took Sharona to the cafeteria for coffee but Adrian stayed by Benjy's bedside. _Poor boy_, Adrian thought. Just a few sentences had exhausted him. He watched Benjy sleep, like a guardian angel. They were alone and Adrian tried to think of where to begin.

Aloud he said to the boy, "Benjy…let's make a deal…" Sharona, who was looking for her cell phone to make a progress report to Gail and her mother, quietly crept back in and listened as Adrian told the boy that everyone loved him, and that he in particular admired his strength. Surprised at the emotion in Adrian's voice, she smiled a wry smile, knowing that Adrian could be equally strong, he just didn't know it. "Your mom…your mom loves you so much Benjy. She misses you, we all do, but she does most of all. She doesn't know what to do without you. The deal I want to make is this: I'll take care of finding out who did this to you, and why, and you take care of getting well, and together we'll take care of your mom. How does that sound?" Wishing for a response, quite like he always did when speaking to Trudy, but knowing one wasn't forthcoming, he sighed and took Benjy's hand in his own.

When Sharona saw Adrian with her son's hand in his, encouraging Benjy, taking comfort that he was getting better… her heart melted. When she looked from their joined hands to Adrian's expression, which was full of determination, anger and what could only be identified as love… all at once, she felt her heart beat faster.

Sharona had never seen that particular expression on Adrian's face before, and she thought she had all of his grimaces, pained glances, frowns, introspections and the occasional smiles with their corresponding emotions memorized. She usually knew what to expect based on his expression, she knew how to react. This expression, soft and loving, was one she didn't have a prepared reaction to or a defense against. In that moment she realized just how much he cared about Benjy, and about her. He wanted to take care of her, he'd said so.

She'd understood for a long time now that her own feelings for Adrian were confusing and almost too painful to scrutinize. Briefly, she uncovered the feelings stirred once again that morning in the hallway outside of Benjy's room. The moments in his arms had simply highlighted the perfection of being held by him, they fit like pieces of an unfinished puzzle. That feeling was followed by the inevitable recognition of the agony she'd feel when he didn't, or couldn't, respond and the impossibility of trying at all; the moments just now highlighted her inescapable want and the sheer improbability of it. She cared for him; she idolized him almost as much as Benjy did, he drove her crazy sometimes, he made her truly angry sometimes. But no matter how many men she dated, _losers she dated_, she amended, none of them compared to Adrian.

At the beginning, she hadn't even realized she was comparing each man to her boss. This one wasn't smart enough, that one wasn't caring enough, the other one wasn't sensitive enough… when all of this time… right in front of her was a compassionate, sensitive and brilliant man. However, Sharona knew in her head that nothing could come of the feelings her heart harbored and that she had successfully squelched for so long. He was never going to fall in love again, that much was apparent. He looked at her as a friend and, sometimes, it seemed to her, almost like she was his mother, and in no way was that romantic. Besides, he would never look at someone like her and make a favorable comparison between her and the sainted Trudy. Not to mention, he could barely take care of himself, no less a ready-made family. What Sharona failed to see was in his own way he'd been taking care of them all for years. She slipped quietly out of the room.

Adrian studied the sweep of Benjy's lashes against his cheek, and watched over him, making sure his breathing continued uninterrupted. His features, sleeping or waking were an echo of Sharona's. Children really were amazing. They echoed their parents' best features and the worst flaws as well, Adrian mused. Benjy could be moody, temperamental, disobedient and stubborn…just like his mother. But he could also be compassionate, kind, funny and sometimes when Benjy looked at him with his steady aquamarine gaze, Adrian felt that he was looking into Sharona's eyes. He cared so much about both of them, he realized, because they cared about him just as much. Although, sometimes he worried that Sharona looked at him as merely another child to tend. He needed to show her he was a man, not a child, and he wanted, no, _expected_, to be looked at that way. The moments in the hall earlier this morning had plainly accentuated the rightness of what they could have, they way she belonged in his arms…the way it felt to hold her… the privilege of being allowed to embrace her and give her reassurance and it highlighted the hopelessness of his wanting. He just had to find a way to solve this case and make Sharona see that he was far better for her than the idiots she chose to date.

Sometimes he thought her forgiving heart was a better detective than he was… if Sharona fell for the guy, two things were certain he was a liar and a loser and more often than not, he was the guilty party in the cases they worked. In this case, Adrian didn't realize quite how wrong he was. A nurse came to let him know that there was a message for him at the front desk. Hesitantly, he left Benjy's side and went to the nurse's station. There on folded paper he recognized immediately, was his name in familiar square, printed letters. He asked the nurse for a pair of latex gloves and he carefully put them on. He turned the note and looked for visible evidence of fingerprints on the back –none were visible, Stottlemeyer's fingerprint techs would have to dust. On the lower inside section of the note it simply said, "O."

"Did you see who dropped it off?" he asked the nurse.

"No, sorry. I just came on duty."

"Yeah, thanks anyway." He rushed to a private area where he could safely use his cell phone in the hospital and pressed and held the "S" – his speed dial directly to Leland's cell phone.


	7. Chapter Six Progress

Chapter Six - Progress

While Benjy recuperated, slept, and generally began to come back to his normal self, Adrian's investigation continued. The two notes had been entered into evidence, but so far nothing unusual came to light. The paper was generic bond in a light yellow color. It could be had at about a thousand stores in the Bay Area and was readily available in most offices, schools and government facilities. The SFPD had no match to the fingerprints from the notes. The fingerprints weren't in the VICAP data base nor were they in any other FBI database. It was useless information for which Adrian had called in an old favor in order to gain access to the FBI labs and their information. He was angry and frustrated. He had no leads, no suspects, but certain things bothered him about the investigation so far. He was going to hound Randy about returning to the auto body shops, _without me_, to see if a car matching the eyewitness description had been brought in for repair in the weeks since the accident. They'd been as vigilant in following up as they could have been, but Adrian still felt that although the answer might lie with the repair places, it was going to be difficult to find the truth from the assorted miscreants who owned or operated those… establishments.

The one thing he felt certain of was that the car that hit Benjy was out there somewhere, it wasn't being driven or someone would have noticed the type of damage that would have been caused by hitting him, and that one of those repair shops on the list was the key. He couldn't even say why he felt this way, it was pure instinct, no real clues had presented themselves… but he'd solved cases on less in the past, and he was going to redouble his efforts now that he had the burden of Benjy's fate off of his mind. He strode into Benjy's room and saw that three of Benjy's friends were perched on chairs by his bed. Each boy was munching a chocolate snack, including Benjy, and they were making a mess and laughing. Adrian waved and smiled briefly in Benjy's direction. Aside from his feelings about teenagers, he was glad that Benjy had such good friends to help him get better. _What would my life have been like with friends like these,_ he wondered? Benjy smiled a chocolaty smile and Sharona looked to see what had caught his attention. When she caught his eye, Adrian motioned to Sharona and she followed him out the door.

"Hi, Adrian…" he looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah…fine."

She knew better. "Are you sure?"

"No. Not really."

"Why not?"

"Sharona, I've…I've been meaning to – well… ask you something. Something that may be uncomfortable for both of us, but you've been so focused on Benjy, and I've been focused on him and you and the case that I didn't have the time or the inclination to disturb you with this… but I have no choice now. Disher and Stottlemeyer are on my back. I wanted to be the one to talk to you about this… I didn't want them to speak to you. I thought, no, hoped, it would be less humiliating or embarrassing for you if it were me doing the asking… just in case. Just in case."

"In case of what?" she asked, with a puzzled frown.

He took a deep breath and said, "In case there is something you haven't told me."

"Adrian, I tell you everything," she replied with an ironic look. _Well, not everything_, she thought, she couldn't tell him about how her heart broke when she thought about a future that didn't seem to lead anywhere for them together as more than they already were. "What's this about Adrian?"

"It's about you. This is hard for me to ask you, Sharona. I'd never ask you unless there was another way for me to find out, I hope you believe that." He paused and gathered his will to speak. He didn't want to wound her. "Is there anything in your past that someone could use against you? To hurt you? To hurt Benjy? To embarrass you or him?"

"Adrian…" blood rushed to stain her cheeks and caused her to turn an unflattering shade of crimson.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

She waved her hands dismissively, "No, no… it's okay… I know what you must think of me… especially after the comments that Randy and Dale Biederbeck have made in the past and those… photos when you tried to protect me from Dexter Larsen… I only did that so that I could feed Benjy and pay for nursing school… I would never have…"

"Sharona, I'm not judging you."

"Yes you are, but I understand. You're standing there with those huge, kind eyes and feeling sorry for me and trying not to imagine what else I might have done that might embarrass you… or make you hate me…" She looked away, mortified.

Adrian had to suppress a grimace… _she thought I felt sorry for her? She's the gutsiest person I know, and she thinks I feel sorry for her? That she could be an embarrassment to me? _"Honestly, Sharona, being embarrassed by you…well, that would be the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't it? And feeling sorry for you rarely comes to mind when I think about you."

Sharona looked back at him with hopeful disbelief. "Well I'm sure there are some descriptions that do come to mind…and none of them as unflattering as the ones I've already assigned myself, I can tell you that." She nodded her head in acceptance of the things she'd done in the past. She knew deep in her heart if she had it to do again, it wouldn't change a thing.

"Please don't say that. I never think about Biederbeck's disgusting innuendos, Disher's childish and petty idiocy, or of those pictures, Sharona. And even if I did, I know you better than to think you'd have done anything that wasn't legal or appropriate if it didn't involve preserving Benjy's well-being. Desperation is never pretty, and I admire the way you've made your way out of the hell Trevor left you in. Please, Sharona, don't think I can't understand… I do."

At his plea, she looked at him, eyes shining with emotion. Her fear of losing his respect or his admiration was rapidly replaced by the assurances and understanding in his soft, lucid eyes. "You do?" she asked with awe. Amazed at his capacity for ignoring things about her he really would have hated had he actually witnessed them, or if he'd observed them in anyone else; she was also amazed at his ability to look past his understandable distaste and excuse her for the things he _did_ know about first hand. He was definitely making progress with needing perfection in everyone and everything around him. _Which is good, because perfect I am not_, Sharona thought.

"I do. When you love someone the way that you love Benjy, nothing is out-of-bounds when you have to take care of them. Circumstance is a cruel thing sometimes… and you did things… because you were forced to do them, not because it was fun or easy or what you wanted." _I know personally, Sharona_, he thought. _You do that for me every single day. Things you don't want to do, things you don't always understand. You may not love me in the way you love Benjy, but you certainly stretch the limits when trying to take care of me._

She expelled a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding and said, "Well, to answer your question, there is nothing else. Nothing I can think of that would make someone try to take my child from me. Aside from which, what could someone want from me…? I'm not exactly Bill Gates. And how would killing a child, my child, accomplish anything but some sort of vengeance?"

Adrian's brow furrowed in frustration. He was relieved that Sharona couldn't think of anything else off-hand, but she also opened up wider the possibility that this was somehow related to him, in the same way he had always suspected Trudy's death was about him. No matter what Dale the Whale had said about Trudy being the target… yes, she could have been the target… in order to hurt him.

Not wanting to create another situation where Sharona could blame him for the accident, Adrian replied, "Well, then, I'm at a loss."

Sharona looked at him with astonishment… he was so rarely confused or confounded by his investigations. Things that were as clear as a swamp to others usually looked like crystal pools to him. It worried her in many ways that he might not be able to solve this case.

She was worried that someone would continue to try and hurt Benjy… despite the fact that she'd finally "made" the guards about a week earlier. When she'd relaxed enough about Benjy's prognosis, she realized these men would come and go at regular intervals…basically on the same shifts that the nurses had… and although she suspected Adrian was behind the guards, she didn't want to bring it up and put her worry out there and confirm his own fears. Because in order for him to hire guards secretly he must have harbored some fears he wasn't sharing. She was just grateful that he cared and wanted them safe – especially because she noticed that the guards melted away when he visited. It was in those moments she knew he was protecting them, guarding them. She was going to owe him a lot more than money could repay sometime very, very soon. This concerned her as well; what could she do to repay him not only financially, but for the emotional support he'd given her which had most likely cost him more than she had assumed he could psychologically afford. On the other hand, she was more concerned about what another unsolved case would do to Adrian's already insecure psyche.

"Then this _is_ about Benjy…as I originally suspected. But what could a thirteen year old kid have or know that someone would want to kill him for?" His voiceless thought was that it could also be about Sharona, but he didn't want to scare her. What did Sharona know or have that someone would kill her child over? It was better to focus her on Benjy – it would keep her here, off the street, under the guards' watchful eyes. It would keep her from deciding to do a "Lois Lane" and investigate or snoop on her own. He couldn't afford to lose her – especially in an unnecessary and senseless way like he'd lost Trudy.

At that moment, Benjy's friend, Stephen, stepped out of Benjy's room on some errand for his invalid friend. He looked sheepishly at Monk and Sharona as he passed them, but there was no reason for him to be embarrassed by his eavesdropping. They barely noticed him; they were too busy earnestly discussing some adult thing he didn't quite get. What he did get was that Adrian and Sharona were a little lost and Stephen was surprised that Benjy's hero, the person Benjy told them was the best, most brilliant detective in the world, hadn't understood the three clues he'd gotten so far. Stephen decided to go a step further to help them. He watched them walk to the waiting area.

Sharona and Adrian got comfortable in the lounge; allowing Benjy to visit with his friends privately and allowing themselves time to go back over the few clues that were all they had. He presented two-sided Xeroxes of the three notes that had creases in the same places as the originals. The note to Benjy sat side-by-side with the two addressed to him. She looked at them… HOR… she rearranged them OHR…and again… RHO… nothing stood out.

"Rho is a Greek letter, right?" she asked, thinking back to the fraternity boys she'd dated.

"Yeah," Adrian nodded, "but I think the order of the letters is what's important here."

Just then a nurse walked over to the couches where Adrian and Sharona were puzzling over the clues. When Adrian looked up, his heart skipped a beat. With latex gloves the nurse was gingerly carrying a folded piece of yellow paper.

"Ms. Fleming?" she said.

"Yes," Sharona looked up from the table that held the copies of the notes. I found this on my desk when I came back from seeing a patient."

On the front fold of the note, it said, "Ms. Fleming. " On the inside of the fold it said simply, "S." Adrian recognized the paper, the handwriting, but was even further mystified by this new "clue." Now the notes on the table looked like four flattened tents that still made no sense. The nurse handed the note to Adrian after he donned a pair of latex gloves that he'd had in his pocket. Sharona looked at him with surprise. Not only was he carrying something in his pocket, it was as if he'd expected another clue to drop in his lap. Maybe he had.

H   O   R    S

 "Horse? Horses? Horsier? Hors d'oeuvre?" Adrian whispered, mostly to himself.

"Are you serious?" Sharona asked.

"N-no. No. I just was trying out some words."

"I don't get it."

"Me either. If someone is going through the trouble of trying to tell us something, why not just tell us?"

"How long have you known about these notes?"

"A while."

"Adrian."

"Since the day before Benjy became conscious again. The first one was addressed to him and left at the nurses' desk. The next two were to me, also left with the nurses. Now this one to you. The police and the FBI have checked the prints – no record exists."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I think you had more important things on your mind. Solving the case is my problem."

"Isn't it usually _our_ problem," she asked with hurt in her voice.

"Of- of course, but right now it can't be… I have to do this alone."

She frowned at him. _Suddenly he doesn't need me? _"Fine."

He guessed that she was irritated with him as much as wounded. "Sharona…"

"I said fine. If you don't need me, you don't need me."

"It's not that…" how could he express that he needed her, but he needed to resolve this on his own… without hurting her more? "Okay, here's the thing. The thing is…"

"The thing is…"she echoed as he paused.

"The thing is I want to do this for you… not with you…okay? Benjy is your first priority right now – rightly so. I will get along for a while longer without you… maybe I won't be doing as well as I would if you were with me… but I will be okay."

She was mollified for the moment, almost pleased with his self-sufficient and take-charge attitude – it was important progress for him. The fact that it might come at her expense was something she'd have to learn to accept. _He really might not need me any more._ "Okay, I'll accept that, as long as you don't give my job away to someone else."

He scowled uncomfortably and stuttered "Why- why would I do that?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Just don't go getting any ideas about finding a new assistant or going it alone forever… okay?"

He smiled and said, "Okay."


	8. Chapter Seven Confession

Chapter Seven - Confession

It had been ten days since Benjy woke up, and Adrian had, by and large, avoided visiting him while he was awake or unoccupied. He'd spoken with Sharona and with Benjy's doctors in the halls. Checked on the guards he was still paying, but couldn't face his young friend. He'd stood over him while he slept, studying his face, trying to control the sheer relief and joy he felt at Benjy's rapid and remarkable progress. Adrian was too ashamed over his failure in solving the case thus far, and guilt still rode him over the fact it had been his fault Benjy was hurt, to see him while he was awake or alone.

Benjy had been moved to a semi-private room away from the ICU, and he was doing well. Currently without a roommate, the second bed in his room was occupied by a sleeping Sharona; Adrian could see the spill of blonde curls peeking out from under a pink blanket and over the white linens. The soft wisteria scent she always wore wafted towards him, and for a long moment he watched the blanket rise and fall with her even breathing. Although it was barely ten am on a Saturday, several of Benjy's school friends were visiting again. Adrian tried to allow the boy his privacy, but his curiosity got the better of him. Stephen, Matt and Charlie were their names, Adrian recalled. The four boys were as thick as thieves; there were two others that were only peripherally part of this close-knit group, those two Adrian only recognized by sight on most occasions and they were absent today.

The middle school gossip bored him, but a snatch of conversation about some kid who got Benjy's place on the basketball team and was gloating about it around school saying Benjy wouldn't have made it in any case caught his attention. The tone of the boys' voices and their expressions were telling more of a story than their words. They were happy to see their friend getting better, eager to tell their stories of the past few weeks and to "tattle" on another friend. Even barely understanding the rudiments of the sport of basketball, it was clear to Adrian that Benjy was quite good. Adrian had seen that for himself in games of years past and again at the tryouts the previous month. Benjy had talked him into coming along to keep Sharona company and to cheer him on. Adrian had paid less attention to Benjy's athleticism that day than to the father of one of his competitors who kept eyeing Sharona and talking to her. He'd been wearing a wedding band, but was still making obvious and suggestive remarks to her. After a while, Adrian made Sharona switch seats with him to put some space between the offensive oaf and her and then finally, he made them move two sections away from the creep, with some transparent excuse about the lighting and not being able to see Benjy. Sharona hadn't had to be asked twice, obvious excuse or not, she had been glad to get away from the guy.

Now, Adrian walked further into the sterile room quietly, listening; wondering… still unsure of the sports talk, while the underlying theme was piquing his curiosity. He also heard about that other kid being grounded…apparently for something he'd taken without permission. Adrian disliked rule breakers – and if Adrian was recalling correctly, the boy in question was like his father, sloppy, messy and loud – not one of his favorites amongst Benjy's friends. He also recalled the father of the punished boy being the one who made inappropriate overtures to Sharona at the tryouts, which at first she rebuffed politely, but later rebuffed with distaste and anger. The creep was uncouth enough to openly come on to a woman not his wife in front of his child. The boy had been visibly upset and angry, although whether he was upset or angry with his father, Sharona, at whom he glowered, or Benjy who Adrian noticed he'd deliberately tripped on the basketball court, Adrian didn't know. Something in his mind clicked, and he felt the pieces of his puzzle slide more comfortably into place. He was getting to an idea...making a connection…but it was still going too slowly for his taste. He shook off the memory and refocused on Benjy.

When Benjy noticed him, his face lit up, Adrian smiled tightly and walked to the far side of the bed… furthest from the offensive looks and scents of those pre-teenage boys. When they saw Monk, there were mumbled greetings.

"Hi, Mr. Monk."

"Gotta get going…"

"Mom said 'be home for lunch,'" and the three shuffled out of their chairs in their over-large jeans and sloppy baseball caps. Adrian was grateful that Benjy didn't dress like that too often. In fact, he was proud to be seen with a boy like Benjy, tall for his age, he ate his share of junk, but playing basketball and baseball kept him thin. He dressed neatly and appropriately, often he didn't even wear jeans. He was a good boy, and Sharona had done an amazing job raising him on her own. He had clean, neat clothes, the "in" sneakers and he loved music and old movies, good food and sports.

She provided for him – _even when I forgot or pretended to forget to pay her_ - and she did it without bemoaning her single-parent status. She'd done it almost entirely on her own his whole life. No matter how she suffered, or debased herself, or had to deny herself, Benjy had never experienced a moment that Adrian was aware of where he lacked food, clothes, love or security. _Benjy was her world and I almost ruined that_, he thought with his blanket of self-loathing firmly in place. _I nearly cost her this love, this life, this person she made and perfected._ _Why did I ask her to leave him behind?_ _My fault.__ My fault. My fault._ Adrian tried to erase that from his mind, he had other things to discuss with his young friend Benjy. Little did he know what Benjy had in store for him.

As the boys made plans for another visit and bade Benjy farewell, Adrian turned to look at Sharona, peaceful, sleeping well for probably the first time in weeks. She was lovely in repose, her breathing regular, and her expression serene. His heart flipped over in his chest and simultaneously he felt the unfamiliar impulse to reach out and touch someone…no, to touch _her_ specifically, to caress her cheek or run his hand through her springy, blonde curls… and before his common sense or his uncommon phobias could stop him… he did. He was so amazed by the softness of her cheek, the strength of bone under flesh which swept up her face and gave her the appearance of delicate porcelain that he forgot to worry about touching someone else's skin. She'd lost too much weight in the past few weeks, the hollows of her cheeks and the shadows under her eyes belied the strength that he knew lived under her flesh – that ran in her veins like liquid titanium. He hadn't voluntarily touched a woman's face for so long he almost forgot how pleasant it could be. He ran his fingers over the planes of her cheek and into her amazingly thick, curly hair and warmth flooded through him. The intimacy of observing her sleeping was novel for him and the minutiae didn't escape his notice… he was seeing the toll taken by the grave events of the past few weeks alongside how exquisite her small features were, even when her beautiful eyes were closed.

At the same time, he was seeing the details of this complex woman whittled down to one word: devotion. As if it were written on the cheek he caressed so tenderly. Sharona was wholly devoted to Benjy. She hadn't left the hospital except briefly for the past few weeks. At first instinctively, and now from years of experience, he knew that she cared for him in an equally active and devoted way. She never left him for long – even her quitting lasted no longer than a day; it humbled him and thrilled him all at once to be cared for like that. Would it continue like this forever? Could it? Or would someone take her away from him, both emotionally and physically? He'd come close to losing her when Trevor had popped up out of nowhere, and although Sharona and Benjy had been hurt by getting their hopes up, Adrian was glad he'd been there to help them through that…although all he did was take them for a walk by the water and listen.

Contrition was certainly not in his usual repertoire of stilted emotions, and yet his heart ached with the thought of what pain he'd caused her. They hadn't discussed it – they hadn't discussed much except Benjy's condition and prognosis and the case in the past several weeks. When there was nothing left to say, they'd just sat in silence. He'd felt the full burden of accountability in those quiet moments in the darkest parts of the days and nights in the hospital. He felt her eyes on him sometimes and heard the unspoken words of blame. He yearned to turn back the clock – definitely not the natural order of things, but to go back and do that day again, to prevent the grief and sorrow.

"Hi, Mr. Monk," said the plaster wrapped creature in the other bed cheerfully. Adrian retracted his hand from Sharona's cheek as if burned and turned to look at Benjy. He had new casts on his left arm and left leg that were chartreuse and tangerine, respectively. The lopsided signatures and drawings caused Adrian to itch, but he turned his attention to the smiling face that miraculously hadn't suffered more than a few scrapes and bruises. "I was wondering when you would come see me again, Mr. Monk. I've missed you. Where have you been?"

Adrian sighed at the boy's candor and innate kindness, he was so much of Sharona; in that moment he understood it would have hurt him nearly as badly as it would have Sharona to have lost him. The truth of it was …. Adrian loved him. Adrian Monk loved this boy as though he had raised him and loved him his whole thirteen years, eight months and five days. In fact, he'd now known him more than a third of his young life, _actually, closer to half of his whole life_, Adrian realized, and it startled him. That was far longer than Benjy'd lived with his creep of a father, Trevor. Adrian had spent more time worrying, cheering, and, yes, loving this child than the man who had created him_. But now it's my fault he's here at all, my fault. _

Adrian sat then and began to rearrange the items on the bedside table before he answered. Books, cups, basketball cards, electronic games and get-well cards ended up aligned like rows of corn in a Kansas field. "I- I've missed you too, Benjy. So much. More than I could have imagined." He smiled at the boy – one of his rare, real smiles. "I have something to confess to you Benjy, and I'm…well, I'm afraid it's going to make you stop liking me and maybe stop being my friend."

"I doubt it, Mr. Monk," he looked sympathetically at his hero. He gazed thoughtfully at the detective with his mother's aquamarine eyes for a moment, the woman's empathy mixed with the boy's hero-worship. Adrian felt confused, yet oddly comforted that there was another person in the world that could look at him with that same insight and acceptance. "Mom told me that you'd probably feel guilty and ashamed that it was your fault that I stayed behind that day. But she also said it wasn't your fault and it was silly to feel guilty, you didn't want me to get hurt."

"She… she did?"

"Yes." With just that one word, his guilt should have been absolved, but he was going to carry it until he could solve this case. His hopes rose to think Sharona didn't speak badly of him to Benjy, no matter what she truly thought. His hopes sank when he realized that could be just a mother's way…she'd never spoken badly about Trevor to Benjy until two years ago when he'd broken both their hearts once again.

"Benjy, I also… I also want to confess that I'm not sure I will be able to solve this case. It's been difficult, my feelings for you … about you …and your mother, too…nothing makes sense… it's… it's made this the second most difficult case I've ever investigated." Adrian's shoulders slumped in defeat and resignation.

"You mean second after Mrs. Monk's murder?" the child asked guilelessly.

Adrian's head snapped up. "Yes, but how… how… did you…" he trailed off, unable to complete his thought.

"Face it Mr. Monk, I've been in the backseat a lot for over five years… watching you and mom do your work. I may love my Gameboy, but I also listen really well. I know people say you're different since your wife died.

"And I'm not dumb; I know you're not like other people – even though I didn't know you before – well, before. I think you're much better though, than most other people. You're really smart, Mom says that all the time. You listen to me, you believe me when I tell you that I'm telling the truth. I also know that you're getting better all the time. Mom said you've been here every day, even though I didn't see you, no matter how you had to get here, no matter how much you hate blood and germs and hospitals." He smiled brightly at his idol.

"That's true, Benjy. But I owe any progress to Dr. Kroger and to your mother."

In his infinite thirteen-year-old wisdom he said, "I don't think they were the only things that helped you, Mr. Monk. _You_ helped you to be better."

Adrian shifted in the uncomfortable chair, trying to find a place he could get comfortable, both in the damn chair and in his head. "And you Benjy. You – you've taught me that kids can be okay. More than okay, they can be – good, and kind… and clean…and special. Benjy, I will hate myself if I can't find out who did this to you. I want to for you and for your mother."

"I believe in you, Mr. Monk. I really do. We both do," the last part was spoken thoughtfully as he glanced at his sleeping mother across the room. "We talked about it this morning. We know you'll do your best, and if you can't find out, then probably no one could." Adrian didn't really have a reply to that so he simply nodded. To be believed in, to be someone's hero, was the greatest feeing. A new feeling. Adrian swallowed the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. To know that Sharona still believed in him after the accident... He wished she would look at him again with the same mixture of admiration, humor, exasperation and incredulity at what passed for Adrian Monk behavior that she wore on most days. It made him feel… understood.

"Mr. Monk," Benjy lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "I want to talk to you about mom." He inclined his head as far as he could toward the direction of Sharona's sleeping form.

"What? What is it?" He stage-whispered back and as alarm made his blood race, he sat up straighter.

"She isn't eating or sleeping too great, Mr. Monk. I'm worried about her." Adrian thought he couldn't love the kid more, but to see him be concerned about his mother the way she was concerned about him, it broke something free inside of him. It made him want someone to worry about him, someone he didn't _pay_ to do it, and someone he could worry about in return. And in the deepest part of his heart and the in the part of his brain he tried, but failed, to master, he knew he wanted it to be Sharona and Benjy he worried about and who, in turn, worried about him. Benjy continued, "Can you help her Mr. Monk? Can you get her out of here? Take her somewhere to eat or to see a movie? She likes those sappy girly ones… or maybe rent _The Wizard of Oz_ – it's her favorite… just make her go home… I'll be okay. Really. I swear.

"I know 'bout your 'things' with eating out or going out to public stuff, Mr. Monk. But she needs you. I need you. Can you help me help her?"

"Sure…ah sure, Benjy, I'll do anything I can for her," he said with his stomach clenching and unclenching at the thought of a movie theater full of weeping women…but coming to the realization, the knowing, that he _would_ do anything for her… just as she always had for him. Wanting, no, really _needing_, to do something for someone else …for someone he cared about… _Kroger will be thrilled with the breakthrough_. Adrian was terrified. His mind took off in several directions at once. Then, an idea struck him. It came to him as clearly as if he'd had the Chronicle in front of him.

This morning he'd stopped pacing and counting ceiling tiles long enough to glance through the newspaper – one Sharona had said she'd scanned just to know what day of the week it was – _Friday_ – he did it in order to get a grip on the insubstantial framework his days had suddenly taken on without Sharona's efforts. During his quick look earlier in the day he'd seen an ad for a play – a touring company of a show from New York City. Sharona would like that; he'd see if he could get tickets to the show about the witches of Oz…what was it called? _Wicked_. It was being performed at the Curran Theater on Geary Street. He pictured the ad in his mind's eye, it was designed as an optical illusion and he'd thought it clever when he glanced at the theater section with no plans to attend, just perusing everything to keep his observation skills and knowledge of current events sharp.

"Yes, Benjy, I think I know just the thing to do for your mother."

"Mr. Monk can I ask you one more thing?"

"Su-sure Benjy. Of course…of course."

"Do you love my mother?"

Startled by the question, Adrian paused before he said, "Of course I love her Benjy, she's the best friend I've ever had…"

"No, I mean do you love-love her?"

"Uh… uh...love-love..." Monk glanced uncomfortably over at Sharona. She was still sleeping serenely and involved, he hoped, in dreaming pleasant dreams. He wanted to do something that she would always remember…a gesture… something that wasn't for him, but for her… confessing his feelings; his real feelings would certainly be something that she would never forget. But that might be construed as about him, not about her…_what if she was repulsed? What if she laughed? What if she cried?_ He decided to confess to her son, the next best thing… and perhaps a good practice run in saying it aloud…test it out to see how if felt to not only think it, but claim it aloud.

"Is it that transparent?"

"No," the boy replied, "but I've watched enough of those sappy girl-movies with mom to notice how the man looks at the woman he loves. You look at mom like that when you think no one is watching. But, like I said, I've been in the backseat for a lotta years." He grinned evilly at Adrian, "Maybe they should call that the front row."

"So…." Adrian drifted away from the conversation for a moment and thought of the possibilities of loving Sharona. Of claiming that love. _Do I?__ Yes, I do. Definitely. Am I in love? If I am, it feels different this time_, he thought. _Is that right? Can there be more than one person we're able to love and each of those loves feels differently to us? _The very thing he'd been trying to contain and hide now faced him – head on. He had a choice… let his life continue on as it was – an existence that could barely be called a life, or explore the frightening unknown possibilities with love in his life again. It wouldn't be as quiet or neat or as simple as it had been with Trudy, certainly. _It could be just as wonderful, though._

"Mr. Monk? Mr. Monk?" Benjy drew him from his reverie. "I asked you if you love-love my mother."

Adrian, eyes shining and crinkling at the edges, smiled his small, secretive smile, the real smile, the one he used so infrequently, but had now allowed to slip out twice in ten minutes. He whispered, "Yes Benjy, I do. I do love her, very much. I don't know when it happened, or how, but I do and I have got to go… I've got plans to make." He virtually dashed from the room… or whatever passed for dashing to Adrian Monk … first to the left and then he waved awkwardly through the glass window as he retraced his steps towards the right this time… waved again, and zipped towards the elevators as Benjy looked after him with a satisfied smile fixed on his face.

At the elevators, he ran into Randy, bit-back his ever-present resentment of the young lieutenant, and asked for a favor.

"Disher!" Randy looked up from his cell-phone conversation at Monk with surprise. He'd never seen the man this agitated and smiling at the same time.

Randy hung up and said, "Hey, Monk, what's up…solve the case?"

Adrian frowned, "No. Not yet I have some ideas, but nothing that we can actually use yet." That was true there were snatches of thoughts and ideas running around his mind, but nothing had coalesced quite yet. "Randy, do you know anyone who can get me a pair of tickets…good ones… to the Curran Theater for tonight?"

"Yeah, probably. What's the occasion?"

"Uh…well, I'm taking a friend out to make up for a colossal mistake."

"Really?" Disher looked at him with the distinct impression that there was a lot more to the story.

"Yes, really… I make mistakes." _Usually I don't correct them, or I ignore them…or Sharona fixes them_… "This is one that needs to be corrected, by me – as soon as possible. So, can you help me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute." Randy dialed the phone, and spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. He turned to Monk and said, "It's gonna cost ya a bundle."

"It's worth it," he said with more confidence than he actually felt, as Disher looked at him as though he'd gone around the bend. _Alright_, Randy amended in his head, _further around the bend_. _Monk must really be in some hot water_ …_for him to spend this kind of cash_…unheard of – at least by Randall Disher.

They agreed on Randy dropping the tickets by his place at three o'clock that afternoon and Adrian took his leave – he had more plans to make.


	9. Chapter Eight Invitation

Chapter Eight - Invitation

Once Randy had helped him with what Monk could only assume was a shady ticket broker, _great cops, past and present, both of us,_ he thought sardonically; he realized he now had to do the hard part. Ask Sharona to leave the hospital for a few hours and spend the time away from Benjy with him.

He'd been carrying his own cell phone around for weeks now, and was almost used to the uneven distribution of the weight in his pockets. He'd compensated for a few days by carrying other stuff in the opposite pocket… keys, a pocket bottle of hand sanitizer - but it didn't work, so he just dealt with the imbalance – ignoring it most of the time, but he still couldn't wait to return the responsibility of his cell phone back to Sharona's care. He pressed the first speed dial button with precision. She answered on the third ring.

"Hel-hello, Sharona?"

"Adrian? Where are you?"

"Oh, I'm – I – I'm out."

"Out where?"

"Out – you know – outside."

"Outside? What are you doing?"

"I'm ah…I'm going to see Mrs. Ling. To pick – pick up the dry cleaning." Lying didn't come easily for him, but he didn't want to say he was out inspecting restaurants' kitchens and bathrooms.

"Oh. Jeeze, Adrian, I've really been leaving you alone too much… I'm sorry, why don't I come over for a while today, I'll help you do whatever needs to be done, the bills, groceries, the errands…"

"No! No!" He cut her off. "That's – that is not why I called. I don't want you to come to work…"

"You're right… I shouldn't leave Benjy…what was I thinking?" The child in question rolled his eyes as the ceiling.

"No! You do have to leave! You should leave!"

"What?" Sharona squeaked.

"Uh, not now. Later maybe."

"Adrian, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Dinner, yes. You know, dinner. The meal at the end of the day?"

"Yes, I know the meaning. I'm still confused."

_Me too_, Adrian thought, tongue in knots. "I'd like you to have dinner. With me tonight."

"That's sweet Adrian, I know you miss me cooking for you – but –"

"No! I don't. I mean, yes – yes I do, b-but I'm asking you… to go _out_ to dinner with me… tonight."

Sharona wasn't easily astonished, but this astonished her. Adrian had voluntarily offered to take her to dinner? One she didn't have to cook or clean up after? Suspicion snuck in. "Why?"

"Why?" Adrian hadn't really anticipated that reply, it was one he hadn't worked out an answer to before he made the call. "Why?" he repeated. "Why?"

"Yes, Adrian, why?" Sharona tapped he foot impatiently at the other end of the connection, as Benjy watched bemused and baffled all at once. _This should have been pretty easy. What was Mr. Monk doing?_

"Oh, uh – because it will do you good – to get out – of the hospital."

Bewildered by the generosity and the unlikeliness of the whole conversation, Sharona covered the mouth piece of the phone. She turned to Benjy and said, "Mr. Monk needs me. Will you be okay if I have dinner with him tonight, instead of here with you?"

"Mom…I'm over thirteen, I can eat on my own and watch TV on my own and call a nurse if I need help with anything else. Mr. Monk probably needs you much more than I do right now," he smirked to himself. Outwardly, he smiled innocently and urged her, with his good hand making shooing motions, to go.

"Adrian?"

"Here. I'm here."

"Okay, Benjy says he'll be fine, and I should go with you."

In his head, Adrian thanked the boy and said aloud, "Good. Great. We'll have…fun. Fun, is good, right?"

"Fun? Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes. I'm … I am fine. Do you want me to come to your house and then…uh, you know…drive?"

It was her turn to exclaim, "No!" Then she scowled with frustration and pressed her fingers to her eyes. _That didn't come out right, he was being – considerate, and she was being a bitch_. "Sorry, no, no, I'll come to you, that way if I need to get back to Benjy… never mind, what time?"

"Five-thirty?"

"Alright."

"See you then," he said hopefully, and Sharona would have even said cheerfully, if that word had ever come into play around Adrian in the past.

"Okay, bye." She hung up, and stared at her phone for a second. She looked over at Benjy who was doing his best impersonation of a deaf-mute person. His mother wasn't buying it.

"Benjy…"

"What?" he asked with teenage indignation.

"What are you up to?"

"What could I possibly be up to, chained to this bed?" He pointed to the casts and the traction pulley.

"With you, all things are possible," said the maternal voice of experience.

"I'm telling you, nothing. I'm going to watch TV, read my Social Studies book, try not to itch my stitches and under my casts, and then go to sleep. That's it…no big crime to solve, nothing evil."

"Okay, then what's wrong with Mr. Monk?"

Benjy choked on a laugh and said, "I have no idea, and why does something have to be 'wrong'?"

"Benjy, for Adrian Monk to voluntarily leave the house, eat food from somewhere other than his kitchen or ours, volunteer his time, not to mention money, for someone else… it just seems suspicious."

"Maybe he's just being nice?" Benjy asked hopefully.

"Could be. Or maybe he's going to fire me."

"Mom, please…"

"No Benjy, look at the situation, it's been almost five weeks since the accident, he's getting nowhere fast on the case on his own, he just admitted to floundering around doing his errands. He needs someone, and that someone can't be me right now. Maybe he found a replacement…"

"I really doubt that mom. He's been here almost as much as you, more than even Grandma and Aunt Gail have, at least from what you've said." The boy shrugged, "He's probably just worried about you, too."

"I guess miracles happen."

"I'm living proof."

She smiled and grabbed his good hand for a squeeze. "That's true," she allowed.

"Just go, wear something pretty and have… fun. Okay?"

"Okay, okay." _Five-thirty…it was __eleven forty-five__, that doesn't leave me much time to do something about my appearance and come back_. "Benjy, I'll be back in a couple of hours." She said and gathered her things.

"That's okay you don't have to come back, Aunt Gail is bringing me paper maché – we're making a volcano for my science lesson today. Go do what you have to do… don't you …want to do your nails or something?" he asked with the appropriate male facial expression that conveyed complete mystification as to why women did that stuff. Sharona assumed men developed that expression in the womb.

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Know-it-all," she leaned over to kiss him goodbye, "I was thinking the exact same thing." She gave him a noisy kiss which he accepted good-naturedly and swiped at once she'd turned towards the door.

"I saw that."

"No you didn't!" he exclaimed.

"Alright, I _sensed_ it… that's my job." She blew him a last kiss over her shoulder and strolled out the door.

Sharona walked out of the hospital and into the warm sunshine. She breathed in deeply and smelled the flowers in the park across the street and the clean fresh air. It was nice to not feel worried or apprehensive about Benjy as she left, although Adrian's sudden personality trans… well, not transplant, but transformation, was a little worrying. But as Benjy pointed out, _why does something have to be wrong?_ She swung into her car with a grin and drove towards her favorite salon, Indulgence, smile firmly in place.

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Three hours later, Sharona went by her house to water the plants, feed Benjy's fish and change her clothes. As she turned the key in the lock, she admired the shiny rose pink color on her nails, and as she passed the hallway mirror, admired her new haircut. She'd gone a little overboard, but hell, it had been almost two months since her last manicure, or hair cut, or anything that was just for her, so she thought she'd treat herself. The owner of Indulgence, Roseanne, talked her into a facial, pedicure and haircut as well. It hadn't been that hard a sell, but Sharona still fretted privately about the expense. Then, when she was ready to leave, Roseanne wouldn't take any money from her; she said it was on the house – Sharona deserved it after all she'd been through.

_Bless her_, Sharona thought, because just next door to Indulgence, there was a pretty dress shop that she had never shopped in. Not so much because of the prices, although that was one reason, but the styles were so much more reserved than the ones she usually wore, _more like Trudy's style than mine,_ she acknowledged to herself. After she parked, she'd had to walk past the store, Whimsy, on her way to Indulgence. There in the window was the prettiest silk dress in pale lavender with little roses embroidered over the bodice and on the hem. Throughout the pampering she received at the salon, all she thought of was that appealing dress. Benjy's words kept reverberating in her head, _wear something pretty… have fun_. After winning the beauty lottery for the day, Sharona couldn't resist going into Whimsy to at least try on the dress.

The saleswoman was polite and helpful. She brought Sharona a gorgeous, strapless lace slip to try on with the dress; it too was pale lavender, but it was accented with deeper purple ribbons threaded through it. It felt sexy and looked innocent all at once. When Sharona slipped the dress over it, she sighed. She'd always loved pretty dresses, but never wore them, it was easier to be who she was, a nurse, a detective's assistant and a single-mom, in her normal clothes. Plus, it was much more difficult to be a sophisticated, quiet, perfect woman than her normal, independent, boisterous, fun-loving self… and as far as innocence -- she'd lost that too many years ago to count.

She smoothed the dress over the lace slip and it skimmed her skin on a whisper. The thin straps that held the dress in place were the same deep purple as the ribbons on the slip, and they clasped with tiny rhinestone buckles at the shoulder, the delicate embroidery echoed the deeper color as well. The material was sleek and smooth. She sighed again and closed her eyes as she reached under her arm for the price tag. It must have been her lucky day; her pretty dress was on sale. Humming, she returned to the car with the dress, and slip, in a charming Whimsy dress bag carefully packed by the saleswoman.

When she got home it was just about three o'clock. She had two-and-a-half hours before she had to be at Adrian's. She'd called Benjy from the car, he was playing video games against another kid on his hospital floor – both of them disadvantaged by only having one useful hand…they were creating all sorts of noise and havoc. She spoke to the duty nurse, he was fine. Gail would be there shortly to do his science project. Sharona was at loose ends. For the first time in a very long time, she had nothing she had to do, nothing was expected of her… so she straightened her already neat house, changed linens, vacuumed…_Adrian is rubbing off on me_, she thought, and then decided to indulge herself a little more by taking a bath. She ran the water and poured in a generous amount of her favorite bath gel and watched as the fragrant bubbles filled the tub. She fiddled with the belt of her robe and thought about what could possibly be behind Arian's impromptu and extraordinary invitation…she hoped she wasn't losing her job. But, as she reminded herself sternly, if she was, she'd find another one. She had always managed. On the other hand, she sighed, she would never find another Adrian Monk, no matter how hard she looked.

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While he waited for Sharona, Adrian roamed through his apartment thinking about the past and the future. Then, in the company of only a heart heavy with conflicting emotions, Adrian did something he never thought he'd bring himself to do. He took the pictures of Trudy that were on tables, his desk, his dresser and on bookshelves and packed them carefully in a box which he placed at the bottom of the closet that still held all of Trudy's clothes. He took the framed photos down off the wall, and packed away the mementos as well. If his life was going to change, he needed to do something to make that happen, he knew this definitively in his head, but his heart ached just the same. He walked to the doorway and then turned to look around his bedroom, the room he'd shared with Trudy, and realized that it looked so bare; the only decorations had been the antique arts and crafts style frames that held the photos of Trudy or photos of the two of them. He shrugged sadly, reached for the light switch, and just before his left hand got to the rocker switch, the glint of his wedding band reflected in the mirror and caught his eye. He hadn't taken the ring off since their wedding day, except to clean it. He wasn't sure he could go that far tonight – even for Sharona. Even to show her that he was ready to move on with his life. She'd understand that, she'd accept that. _Wouldn't she? _He flicked the switch and left his darkened, bare bedroom behind… lost in thought.

The bell rang, to Adrian's surprise, exactly at 5:30. Sharona had never been known for her promptness, something that drove Adrian crazy about her, but he was so used to it by now, that it was something he was able to take, if not in stride, than for granted. _And_, he admitted to himself, _it really was one of _few_ things that drove me crazy about her_. He opened the door and he felt his heart stop. All he could do was stare. And then gape. And then stare some more. Without a word. He looked her up and down from head to toe and took in everything at once, her hair, the lavender dress that made her skin glow like honey, the smile on her face. Fright gripped him. Without a sound, he closed his eyes and closed the door in Sharona's lovely face. Shocked, she simply stared at the burnished gold "2G" on the outside of the door. He stood with his back up against the inside of the door, as if hiding from the woman on the other side and looked heavenward. Guilt about the pictures he'd removed, about the ring he thought about removing and about his emerging feelings for Sharona engulfed him. Quietly he whispered, "Trudy, forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me." He swallowed roughly, choking on the words. "She's so beautiful. I love her. I really love her. Be happy for me…" he added. _God,_ he reflected silently, _I really think I've found someone to rescue me from the dark, to restore me to something human from the nothing I've become since you died, Trudy_. "Forgive me," he murmured again.

Sharona stood in the building's hallway, with her back to his door, there was no way she was ringing that bell again. Whatever was happening in there, _or in his head_, let him deal. _I'm off duty_. When she heard the click of the lock latch closed again she assumed he'd be out when he found whatever he needed to get himself out and able to function. Guilt nagged at the back of her mind, but she wanted one night of near-normalcy. One night where nothing was up to her – no decisions, no plans. Unless of course she was being fired, then that presented a whole host of other plans and decisions she'd have to make without a choice. She studied the stained glass that allowed the fading daylight through in multicolored panes. By the time she heard the lock click back open, she'd worked herself up into a state of righteous indignation.

He stood in the doorway, taken aback again by her appearance. He leaned against the door jamb and sighed quietly. She looked so beautiful in the soft lilac dress and silvery heels. The gauzy wrap over the dress that was tucked around her arms made her look like a butterfly in the rainbows of late afternoon light that came in through the windows of the hallway. Her hair was caught up at the sides and pinned to her crown by a shiny, rhinestone clip, while the rest cascaded over her shoulders and back. The rhinestone clasps on her dress sparkled and winked from her shoulders. She turned to look at him then, fury on a low simmer in her eyes. He could see it from across the hall and without any other hint.

"Let's get this over with," she said tersely as she passed him, nearly knocking him off of his feet.

"What?" he asked as he steadied himself and trailed her into the depths of his apartment.

"You know, before you have to waste any more time or money on me… let's get it over with." She sat on the edge of the sofa cushion and waited.

He looked at her without comprehension. "Sharona, what are you talking about?"

"You're firing me, right?" she asked as she defensively crossed her arms over her chest.

"Firing?"

"Well, what other reason could you possibly have for wanting me to go out with you tonight? Thought you'd break it to me in a public place, so I didn't make a scene. I would have thought you'd have known better by now, I'm apt to make a scene most anywhere."

"Well, you're – you're certainly making one right now," he said with wry humor and a frown. "Sharona, I only asked you to go to dinner with me because I wanted to share a meal with you that isn't in the medical center cafeteria or at Benjy's bedside. Honestly. I'm not firing you. No ulterior motive," he choked on the last few words as they were a blatant lie.

She looked at him and whispered, "Really?"

"Y-yes, really." Her expression softened, regret swam across her features. With his reply she got up and left the room. Mystified, he just watched her go. When he heard the front door lock click home, he knew she'd left. _Way to go __Adrian__. You sure are smooth. _To his surprise, the doorbell rang again.

He answered this time without panicking and slamming the door in her face. Although he did feel his heart slam mercilessly against his ribs when he looked at her.

"Hi," she said. "Can we pretend the last two minutes never happened?"

"L-like a do-over?"

She smiled for him as he stepped aside to let her in the door. "Exactly."

"I can do that." He followed her into his pristine living room and watched her settle herself, this time with more aplomb, on the sofa.

He was looking at her strangely and Sharona opened with her familiar, "You okay?"

"Yes… yes. Fine," he played his normal response. Their exchange was like a game of gin between long-time partners… well-played back and forth. Normal. What he really wanted to say was, _Sharona, you look lovely._ He couldn't work up the nerve. _What will she think of me noticing how she looks?_ Then, _what's the difference __Adrian__? You plan on telling her how you feel tonight anyway…right?_ His internal dialogue raged on as she watched him, watched the play of emotions cross his face, and watched his body language. He was more uptight than usual. They spoke simultaneously.

"Adrian, what's wrong?"

"Sharona, you look lovely."

"What?" she asked

"What?" he replied.

She started again, "I just asked what was wrong, you seem anxious – even for you. What did you say?"

"N-Nothing."

"Something."

"I said…" he paused. "I said, you look lovely tonight."

"Oh." Oh was a useful syllable a woman could slip into conversation practically anywhere and mean practically anything by it. She remembered her manners and said, "Thank you, Adrian. You look nice too." _Why did I say that?_ She cringed inwardly. _What is he going to think of me commenting on his appearance… that's something I can't recall ever doing… and he'll realize. He'll know. He remembers everything._ Sharona had quite an internal conversation of her own going on at this point. _Wait. He noticed me. Now he's watching me. Say something, Sharona…_

"So, where are we going tonight?" _Smooth change of topic, well done, Sharona, _she allowed herself a point or two with an imperceptible nod.

"Ah…" her voice brought him out of his trance over her appearance. "We're going to a French restaurant on …" he fumbled in his pocket for the slip of paper it was written on, "Mason Street."

"Why all the way over there?"

"I – I just thought you'd like this restaurant." He didn't mention that they had the cleanest restrooms, kitchen and an accommodating maitre d', or that it was right near the theater. He felt the slight weight of the envelope with the tickets in it in his inner breast pocket.

"That was nice. The whole idea is really nice Adrian. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being … so…nice…" she trailed off not exactly saying what she had intended. Nice was rather a weak adjective to describe his monumental effort. She gathered her thoughts and finally said, "What I meant was thank you for being so thoughtful and sweet." She smiled luminously at him and said, "When do we have to be there?"

"Now."

"Huh?"

"Well, in fifteen minutes. We… we should go."

"Alright." She stood and followed him down the hall and out the door.

When they reached her car, something dawned on her. She stopped short of getting into the car, looked at him across the roof and said, "Did you do something to your apartment while I've been with Benjy at the hospital?" Her curiosity was piqued but her expression was baffled and suspicious.

"No, no, except, you know, I cleaned it." He hoped she didn't see through him.

She smiled. "Yeah, that's a given. No, I mean did you have it painted? It looked different." He shook his head and shrugged. He tilted his head, uncomfortable with how close she was to getting him to lie. On the other hand, he was amazed that she'd noticed the difference_, her observational skills are improving_, he thought with no small amount of pride, but she couldn't tell what the difference was. _Good_. _I don't want her one step ahead of me right now_. In his left trouser pocket, he nervously pushed the gold band on his ring finger around with his thumb and silently slipped into his seat in the Volvo.


	10. Chapter Nine Wicked

Chapter Nine - Wicked

Adrian had decided, after much deliberation, checking of menus, calling the better business bureau, a serious internal debate over décor, and finally spot inspections of the final two choices, that they'd eat at a quiet French bistro that had been baptized "Christophe." It was on the second floor of an architecturally beautiful and admired old building in the theater district. It was decorated in warm peach hues; art covered the walls and flowers spilled from vases both on the reception desk and each table. It was appealing without being overwhelmingly fussy. It was located on Mason Street near enough to walk to the theater. He wanted everything to be easy tonight. At Christophe, his tomato allergy would be a non-existent problem; Italian food was always too difficult, French seemed more agreeable. The menu was filled with seasonal French dishes that to Adrian's mind appeared to have more modern, California-style influences than normally found in the snobby world of haute cuisine. He disliked unrecognizable food, so at Christophe, Adrian had approved of the menu, he'd found simple foods he recognized, but allowed for Sharona's daring spirit. Tonight, the menu included lobster ravioli with a chardonnay sauce, salmon Wellington, roasted duck, fresh fish, filet mignon and marinated lamb tenderloin.

The weather was balmy and lovely for the fourth or fifth day in a row. The windows were thrown open to allow the restaurant to take advantage of the gorgeous climate of San Francisco. Conversation was desultory; they talked about Benjy and the case, the tutor that was coming to the hospital to help Benjy keep up with his school work, the weather and the possibility of a strike of the BART workers that would foul up commuting for normal nine-to-fivers in the city.

"That's why I'm glad I don't have a normal, boring job." Sharona grinned over her glass of Pinot Grigio at him. "I'd hate commuting… I like being in control of the places I go, and how I get there."

He nodded, "I'm glad you're in charge of how we go places too," he said with an ironic grin.

"Yeah, right."

"Okay, maybe I'm not ecstatic, but the work's still more…. fun… and interesting because you're there...because we're there together."

Sharona recalled a time when he'd said, "You weren't there when I turned around. I like it when you're there when I turn around." She smiled at the memory, happy that Adrian still wanted to be with her years later, that he still needed her…and wanted her there, even if it wasn't quite the way she wanted to be wanted.

Still, gratification coursed through her. "Cheers to that," she smiled again and raised her glass in a mock toast. He tilted his head in acknowledgement.

They discussed stopping by Aquarius Records before Benjy was released from the hospital. Sharona wanted to pick up a copy of the CD that Benjy had bought on that disastrous day to replace the one that was destroyed.

"Maybe we could replace it with the Velvet Underground or the Rolling Stones?" he asked hopefully. That led to a shared laugh over the current sad state of music. Then a spirited debate over classic rock music from the seventies arose. When a muzak version of a Pink Floyd song was piped in because the live pianist had gone on a break, Adrian winced. Sharona laughed at the expression on Adrian's face.

"God, will you listen to how someone with a computer can kill a fantastic piece of music?" Adrian complained. "It's just soulless."

"Yeah, it's really a shame. I remember the first time I heard this song… well, the real version…" she drifted off. Sharona's eyes had taken on a dreamy quality… clearly the memory wasn't one she was willing to share at the moment so he filled in the blanks on his own. Adrian could almost see the younger, girlish Sharona possibly lying on her bedroom floor, pink shag rug beneath her as she stared up at the day-glo stars she'd arranged in fanciful constellations on her ceiling. He could imagine Cheryl yelling for her to turn down the stereo as _Comfortably Numb_ drifted through their house in southern New Jersey. He was able to create the images from the memory of pictures he'd seen in Sharona's photo albums. Maybe Trevor was with her, maybe she'd lost her innocence to him listening to this song… his overactive imagination got the better of him and he forgot actual chronology while his imagined scenarios made him annoyed.

Apparently, Sharona had decided to share the memory after all and said, "I was twelve. Same age as Benjy is now…" she smiled at the paradox. "Gail, tattletale that she was, was sleeping over at a friend's house…thank goodness," she sighed at the memory. "I did exactly what Benjy did the day of the accident. I snuck out of the house, and went on my bike alone to the mall. There was a store called Record World… Hey, remember records?"

"Certainly," he smiled, this was one of few times Sharona had shared something of her childhood with him that was happy, and he didn't want it to end. The painful memories often gave him insight, but this just gave him pleasure.

"Well, I took my allowance…mostly from babysitting that bratty, tattletale Gail and bought 'The Wall.'"

"It's a great album."

She nodded in agreement. "After my mother went to bed, I took out the headphones and lay on the floor in our family room until I fell asleep listening to the albums over and over again."

So he'd been partly correct in his imagination, but this exchange made Adrian realize exactly how much older he was than Sharona; eleven years… but somehow it didn't seem to matter to her, so he was going to let it lie for the time being…why draw attention to another, more concealed flaw in an otherwise obviously flawed human being? Besides, even if he'd never quite gotten the hang of sixth grade, or any other grade for that matter, music was one area where he had something in common with her. He also had it in common with the kids his age...even if he never was able to share it with any of them. He'd once told Sharona, when they visited his brother in their childhood home, that he'd tried to fit in by hanging those posters and buying those albums from The Who and The Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd. But what he said that day hadn't been strictly true. He had genuinely liked the music, hadn't ever invited anyone home to his room to try and "fit in," and no one at school had ever known how he felt about anything, no less music. So, no, he hadn't tried to fit in, but in a weird way, he would have fit in with his peers anyway and, it was now apparent he also fit in with "kids" not his age. Too bad he'd only learned that now. His life might have been quite different. Apparently, and most importantly, Pink Floyd traversed the gap between Adrian and Sharona's teenage years. He also knew it spanned the time between then and now without sacrificing the luminous, haunting quality of their music.

"I wish I had known you then…" he said without really contemplating the words.

"Yeah? Why?"

"I – I'm not sure… I just wondered if we still… if we could have… if you'd…" he couldn't exactly say what he meant.

"If we…" Sharona tried to nudge him to say what he was thinking.

"Nothing. It's just interesting that we like the same music and things." They withdrew to their plates and water glasses. Throughout the meal they spoke almost non-stop, even with Adrian's frequent retreats into his own mind. However, they spoke about everything except the things that really needed to be said.

"Adrian…Adrian." Sharona mildly scolded him for checking out of the conversation once again. He'd been doing that off and on throughout the meal. They'd talked a lot, but she'd had to prompt him to regain his attention several times. He was fidgeting and had that "uncomfortable in his own skin" thing going on… she knew the signs. He had something on his mind, but had no earthly idea how to broach it. Since she had an idea of what he wanted to talk about, she decided to lead the way rather than wait and watch Adrian's antics. She placed her knife and fork on her plate to indicate she was through and pushed them an inch or so away from her so she could rest her elbows on the table and rest her chin in her hands.

"It wasn't your fault," she blurted without any preamble.

Adrian gave her a blank stare and then squinted his eyes. "Oh, no I know it isn't…who knew the duck wouldn't be to your liking?"

Sharona looked down with bafflement at her empty plate, "What? No. The duck was fine – better than fine, it was great. Adrian… I meant Benjy's accident. It wasn't your fault… I know you've been carrying this burden around, and I was so wrapped up and focused on Benjy and myself that I couldn't see what you were going through…"

_This woman was a marvel_, he thought…she felt bad because during the middle of the most trying crisis in her own life, she hadn't been able to take a burden from him… "Sharona I…"

"Adrian. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. I don't blame you, I wasn't angry with you….well except that day in the car, right after the argument, I was gonna quit again to try to get my way…but not since… I don't even think blame crossed my mind, I was just so wrapped up in Benjy's progress -"

It was he who interrupted her this time, "Sharona, it _was_ my fault. I asked you to leave him behind. He'd never have been on the street if he hadn't been left at home with the sitter."

"If anyone is to blame at this point, Adrian, it's the idiot that did this to him…and maybe Benjy for being out on his scooter without finishing his math homework. But I can't blame him either. I just blame fate. Things happen. He's getting better, he will be better, he'll make up the school he missed – I'll help him, and he'll play basketball next year. His skull fracture will be completely healed by then, he'll buy other horrible rap CDs, he'll sneak out again. He's a boy. That's it." _Next year_. Next year…where would they be next year at this time? Benjy, possibly a half-foot taller, playing basketball, Adrian still the same… existing, living for the past, tied in knots with unexpressed emotions, Sharona helping him…working for him… with him…dating more "Mr. Wrongs"…_is that what I want? Or do I want more? Am I capable of more? _He tilted his head side to side as his anxiety intensified. He wanted to tell her how he felt, and couldn't find an opening to say what was really on his mind.

Sharona continued, "Adrian, I wasn't even really that angry at you for asking me to leave Benjy with the sitter…I was more angry for him… like, you know how sometimes I get angry when someone hurts your feelings or puts you down or teases you?" At his nod, she continued, "Well, Benjy worships you – don't tell him I told you – and I didn't want him to think you didn't care about him…" she trailed off. "Am I making any sense?"

Perfect sense. She was the mother lioness, protecting her cub. At that moment she tossed her glorious golden mane over her shoulders and looked at him anxiously for his response. "You are making perfect sense. I wish it were completely true. You may not believe it's my fault, which I appreciate, but it certainly is my responsibility to figure out who did this and why." He rushed on before he could over-think what he wanted to say, "I don't care how long it takes me, Sharona. You and Benjy … you are the most important people in my life… I am not going to let you down…"

A flush of pleasurable warmth rushed up her spine and into her blood stream, _Adrian was doing something for someone other than Adrian_. _Something that had no connection to Trudy's death, or returning to the SFPD.__ He called us the most important people in his life_; this dinner was becoming more interesting as the minutes ticked by. Desert was a lovely treat; there were fresh raspberries, blueberries, blackberries and strawberries with crème fraiche for Sharona but just berries – in four separate bowls - for Adrian. Apparently, they still had a ways to go on the milk, and food touching.

When the berries had been happily, almost greedily, consumed, Adrian handed Sharona the envelope. It was warm from being inside his jacket for the last few hours.

"Surprise."

Mystified, she smiled and took the envelope from him. Curious and naturally impatient, she examined the beautiful silvery designs on the edges and her name in Adrian's neat handwriting on the front while trying to contain her anticipation. She was so engrossed in inspecting it, and pondering the most careful way of opening it without ruining it, that she went without noticing the discreet exchange Adrian and the waitress were having over the check. He practically threw the money at the waitress to get rid of her; he didn't want the "money thing" to come up tonight. He'd spent the better part of his life literally laundering and pressing his money… one of the reasons he hated to spend it… why get dirty, germy change in place of his clean crisp bills? It was easier allowing the world to excoriate him for his supposed tightfistedness than to allow the world to know one more embarrassing facet of his OCD. He liked carrying the clean money in his wallet, he hated giving it to anyone, they always commented….always. So, which was more embarrassing notoriety for cheapness or notoriety for weird compulsions? A conundrum, to be certain. Sharona had endlessly pointed out that credit cards would solve this particular problem, but the fact that someone else touched them and they aren't machine washable…he had them, of course. He couldn't bring himself to deal with using them except for shopping online or making reservations where no one else had to touch them … or in utter emergencies.

Sharona's gasp of pure joy drew him from his musings. "Adrian!" she whispered excitedly. "Why? How did you…? Oh, I don't care why or how! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Before he had time to comprehend the words, she'd thrown herself across the table and into his arms. She was hugging him and kissing his cheek while he sat perfectly still… afraid to spoil the moment.

When they left the restaurant, Sharona raised her brows in surprise as Adrian held the door for her…_sans handkerchief_…_that's_ _progress_… and out on the sidewalk she tucked her arm into the crook of his and left his left arm free to reach out to tap the parking meters they passed in the theater district. He smiled instinctively when he looked down into her eyes, tonight almost on the level of his because of the heels she was wearing… heels that he was trying not to look at both from the anxiety of imagined vertigo and the fact that her bare calves looked as sexy as anything he'd ever seen. Not to mention the deep pink toenails, the deep pink fingernails, the deep pink lips, which were stained even deeper pink from the berries. In fact, her lovely dress, one he'd never seen before, was demure, but the kind of demure that was clearly hiding a secret. If there was one thing Adrian Monk knew about – it was covered up secrets… but, he smirked inwardly, he also knew how to uncover them. _Where had that come from?_ Uncovered bodies were high on his list of things to dread. Yet, there was something so undeniably sexy in the way she walked, and carried herself – confidence… he daydreamed his way down the street thinking about the secrets hidden beneath a pretty, silky, lavender dress.

They successfully negotiated the crowds and found their seats with a minimum of Adrian's neurosis-induced chaos. Adrian was happy that the seats were on the aisle at the rear of the orchestra, a wall stood behind them so that no one was breathing or coughing or sneezing on them from behind, he only had to sit in close proximity to one person. The only person he _ever_ wanted to be in close proximity to was on his left and they had an excellent view of the entire stage. The overture started in the velvet darkness and as she shifted, Sharona's silken dress shifted and exposed her knees. When she tried to move to rearrange her dress, she felt Adrian's light-weight wool covered knee next to hers so she left hers there, with the silly, playful idea that the physical contact would disturb him, make him crazy, but also for the comfort the contact gave her. _How is it just being next to him makes me feel calm and safer than I ever have?_ Sharona wondered. The contact of the scratchy material against her knee was somehow comforting at the same time as it was … _arousing?_ And Adrian, as he had a habit of doing, surprised her. Adrian felt her _naked…naked …naked_ knee bump his and then stay. It was oddly intimate without having any expectations of further intimacy. He shifted as well and now their legs were touching along their whole lengths from knee to foot.

As the show started, Adrian found he was swept into the complicated Land of Oz. He tried to recall what he knew of the original film, but discovered he only knew the basic gist of the tale. The munchkins had terrified Ambrose when they were boys and the _flying_ monkeys and their _unclean_ habits terrified him. They had only watched it the one time in 1965. He had been about 6 years old and his idol, actor Danny Kaye, hosted the CBS presentation of MGM's The Wizard of Oz. He was disappointed and scared and never liked Danny Kaye quite as much again. He hoped the flying monkeys weren't as dirty looking this time. The musical's set design was beautiful, a giant clock with gears that clicked in synchronized movements and parts that were symmetrical so he was able to relax right away… the music was melodious and lively, to a regular tempo and key changes within songs were minimal – but even he could tell – necessary when they occurred. Usually, musicals irritated him. When, in reality, did people burst into song? _Sharona did when she was exceptionally happy,_ he realized and smiled at the thought. But he also knew that her irregular intervals of singing and humming and happiness didn't exactly "further the plot" of their lives.

He let go of his concern about "musical as alternate reality" for the night and simply accepted. By the fourth song he was able to glance surreptitiously at Sharona and enjoy her delight in the action. Her face shone with the excitement of the show and possibly from the wine she'd had with dinner. Her smile was the first genuine, unrehearsed smile he'd seen from her since, well, since before Benjy's accident. Candid, full of the joy that was the very essence of Sharona. No matter what happened to this woman in her past, in her present she managed to retain that sense of adventure and excitement that he longed to possess.

A particular line from the third song of the show…the "I want" song, the one that told the audience the secret desires of the lead character, caught his attention. The lovely woman painted an alarming shade of green in order to assume the role of Elphaba, the so-called "wicked witch," had a clear and beautiful voice. She sang, "And this gift - or this curse - I have inside… Maybe at last, I'll know why! When we are hand and hand - The Wizard and I!" He smiled at that – it was a phrase oft repeated by him… someone clearly understood that being different or "special" could be both an asset and a hindrance to living in the world. He often wondered if he would ever really understand why he could do what he did? _Probably not_, he chuckled to himself and crossed his arms over his chest.

Sharona noticed his reaction and smiled too. She recognized his catchphrase as well, and could almost read his relaxation…he was getting comfortable here… he seemed to identify with the lead character. Elphaba was as much a brilliant oddity and outcast as he was. He was enjoying himself for a change. The lines of worry that resided around his mouth had been replaced by the lines created by smiles. The audience laughed at the lyrics to that fourth song, which would have been, in Sharona's mind, the "love at first sight" song in another show, but instead it turned out to be a "hate at first sight" song, and she and Adrian exchanged a glance, both smiling over the lyrics – remembering their own first meeting.

What is this feeling?  
So sudden and new?  
I felt it the moment  
I laid eyes on you:

Their first such shared smile in all the long weeks since Benjy's accident; the smile that spoke of mutual understanding and history. Each looked back to the stage with a lighter heart and mind and sank further into their seats to enjoy the show.

My pulse is rushing:   
My head is reeling:   
My face is flushing:

What is this feeling?  
Fervid as a flame,   
Does it have a name?  
Yes…Loathing!

Sharona laughed aloud and even amongst the mingled sounds of laughter and music around them in the orchestra section of the theater, he heard hers clearly – deep and throaty, truly an expression of her amusement.

_I don't think I ever actually loathed him, but he may have loathed me…_Sharonathought about her attire, her New Jersey accent and her attitude that first day so long ago.

Unadulterated loathing

For your face  
Your voice  
Your clothing

_He may have, in fact, even uttered the word loathing to me, _shethought, and laughed privately to herself at the memory of the horror on his face when Stottlemeyer had introduced her to Adrian and explained what she was going to do for him.

Let's just say - I loathe it all  
Ev'ry little trait, however small  
Makes my very flesh begin to crawl  
With simple utter loathing  
There's a strange exhilaration  
In such total detestation  
It's so pure and strong!  
Though I do admit it came on fast  
Still I do believe that it can last  
And I will be loathing  
Loathing you  
My whole life long!

Well apparently that loathing on his part didn't last long, she'd stayed. He'd acquiesced. He'd accepted. He'd once said he felt less alone, and truthfully, so had she. _I like when I turn around and you're there_. His words resonated across the years. They'd become so close, so intertwined, in the past few years. After a while, she'd realized that she looked at him as more than a boss – she looked at him as a friend. Her best friend aside from Benjy. The person she counted on for part of her happiness. _When the hell__ had that happened?_ She thought now with surprise. No matter what type of emotions and feelings had been stirred over the years, she hadn't acknowledged them as much more than instinctive. Natural in that way that the longer and better you knew someone, the more intimacies you shared, the more you went through…the more tightly you were bound together. At the same time, she hadn't really realized he'd become integral in her day-to-day existence. Maybe she hadn't realized his overall importance in her life because she'd suppressed or marginalized her yearning, romantic feelings and remained afraid to try to cross the line that ran between them in an invisible, yet tangible way. Her subconscious was now blocking the realities of their relationship as well as the fantasies, she supposed. _Amazing how the brain had the capacity to completely ignore and compartmentalize the obvious_, she thought.

She had no doubt that he cared about her in his own manner. The man had saved her life, or tried to save it, on more than one occasion, he'd overcome his own demons and stood by her literally, and surprisingly, financially, and even more surprisingly, emotionally through Benjy's accident and continued to do so during his recovery. _Am I imagining it or does he seem stronger, better in some way recently? _she mused. She considered all they'd been through together since that first day as her mind wandered away from the show to her own life and the other feelings she sometimes felt – the less definable, the less attainable, the less realistic feelings. The desire she squelched, the need she didn't dare to name. The cases, the arguments, the making-up – her forgiving him for so much… so many times…him apologizing – in his own bewildered, unwilling-to-be-wrong way - over and again. He couldn't be blamed for the innocent hurts he'd caused at first – careless in a naive way. He was so wrapped up in his anguish at the beginning, and forgiveness and understanding came so easily to her. Lately, there'd been far less to forgive, and far more to appreciate. It was simple: she and Adrian and Benjy were a family. _Weird and unconventional, but really, what family today was "normal?"_

Sharona was drawn back to the play when the obvious "hero" arrived onstage. Blonde and handsome, blue-eyed and fair, tall and talented. He wasn't really her idea of a hero… _well, yes he was…when I was young_… today all he reminded her of was Benjy's no-account father, Trevor… her adult idea of a hero was substantially different: medium tall…curly, dark hair, deep complexion, lines around his generous mouth that showed experience, pain, but also that he had once laughed -- a lot, oh, and deliciously deep chocolate eyes that often made her fantasize about things that were way off-limits... and the hint of an incredible "police-issue" body under well-tailored, but loose-fitting jackets and trousers that made her mouth go dry when her mind wandered where it shouldn't go. Like now. _Sharona!_ She chastised herself, _What the hell are you thinking?…Snap. Out. Of. It!_ She sighed and for just a moment wanted to be a better person, a smarter person like Trudy had been, one that her ideal hero, her Superman, would look at with love, but she was who she was and she'd always accepted her weaknesses along with the gifts she did possess in a simple, matter of fact way. She also accepted that Adrian wasn't able to completely change who he was, and truthfully she wouldn't want him to. She shrugged inwardly and retrained her attention on the show.

Sharona drifted back just as the audience laughed at a line in the "hero's" song about "_dancing through life_" and learning to live the "_unexamined life_" and when Sharona caught his eye, Adrian's expression had been confused, as if to say, "How? How does one live the unexamined life?" His expression was almost mischievous and conspiratorial. It was so endearing that Sharona forgot herself, took his hand in hers and smiled brightly at him.

Feeling as though he'd been sucker punched, he gulped air mechanically, she was so close and so very beautiful as she smiled at him, he felt like the sun had come out after weeks of rain. He drew in another deep breath and before he could consider it and talk himself out of it, he leaned closer to her and kissed her on the mouth in the middle of a crowded theater in the middle of the sixth song in what was _almost_ the middle of an award winning musical. It didn't get much more public... or more perfectly proportioned than that. The kiss was gentle, soft. A hint of the feelings that had been under the surface of their relationship for a long time, but that had been suppressed, subjugated for propriety, for phobia, _for no reason at all_. She tasted like strawberries and yearning; they weren't touching in any other place except for their joined hands and their joined lips, but Adrian could feel her inside his heart and his mind as if they were one. _Eve__n if I can't say the words, at least I can show her how I feel_.

Sharona looked at him, seconds later – an eternity, when he finally leaned away, surprise rounded her eyes until they resembled teal-colored jewels, but of course she couldn't say a word to him at the moment given their location. He kept her small, fair hand tucked into his much larger and darker one and placed them in his lap with what she thought of as his satisfied "I just solved the case" smile. He turned back to watch the performance. The audience erupted in laughter all around her during the next song, which she only half-heard as she stared sightlessly at the stage. Her mind was whirling in an entirely other direction. _Adrian__ kissed me. Kissed. Me. He leaned in and smilingly, willingly, wonderfully kissed me. On the mouth. In a public place. Oh, he smelled incredible. Like sandalwood and vanilla, so fresh and warm. Not cologne, but him. He's touching me, holding my hand. What could it mean? Was he asking something? Was he telling something_? Sharona batted the ideas in her head like a kitten with a ball of yarn, but she realized she'd have to wait at least four more songs to find out. In the meantime, she wasn't pulling her hand from his, nor was she going to miss the rest of the show pondering it. The heat of Adrian's hand over hers sent shots of electricity up her arm, but she focused on the wonderful singer, the woman playing the "wicked" witch as she sang about falling in love.

Hands touch, eyes meet  
Sudden silence, sudden heat  
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl  
He could be that boy

She smiled to herself as she listened…then the next lines made her sit up a little straighter…and frown.

But I'm not that girl

Don't dream too far  
Don't lose sight of who you are  
Don't remember that rush of joy  
He could be that boy  
I'm not that girl

She breathed with difficulty, grasping that that moment of normal just now was only that – a moment. One short span of time in the six or so years she'd known him. Oh, there had been other flashes of the person he'd been before… before Trudy died. But the fantasy had been so wistful and her heart was so full, it ached. There were the moments in the past few years, not to mention the past few hours, where she wondered "_What if?"_ or "_Could we?" _but they were as fleeting and as insubstantial as a cloud.

Ev'ry so often we long to steal  
To the land of what-might-have-been

But that doesn't soften the ache we feel

When reality sets back in

The reality was that Adrian would never get over Trudy, or cast her aside in favor of another woman. A living woman. The fantasy of the past was safer, easier for him to deal with. Aside from which, he had two focuses: preserving his dead wife's memory and earning his shield back. The later was something she could help him with, the former was something she couldn't hope to compete with – she wasn't nearly in the same league as the canonized Trudy.

Blithe smile, lithe limb  
She who's winsome, she wins him  
Gold hair with a gentle curl

Not the former nude pinup with the flyaway curls. Not the single-mother or exotic dancer. The perfect and estimable Trudy Anne Monk was _the_ girl. The virtuous, innocent and perfect girl who wrote sweet poetry and insightful, important newspaper articles. Sharona chastised herself for being angry at or jealous of a dead woman. It was ridiculous to blame Trudy for Monk's craziness. It was her death that caused that. _Well, no_, Sharona acknowledged to herself, _not even that_. Trudy's living, simply existing, had enabled him to control his phobias, his OCD and his underlying tendency toward insanity. Silently she asked for forgiveness from the pretty, petite woman she'd never met, but knew very well.

That's the girl he chose  
And Heaven knows

I'm not that girl:  
  
Don't wish, don't start  
Wishing only wounds the heart  
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl  
There's a girl I know  
He loves her so  
I'm not that girl:

The words echoed in her head, _I'm__ not that girl. I'm not that girl. And I never will be. I can't compete with a ghost for love. I can barely compete with mortals for a man. Who was I kidding just now to even entertain the hope_? It had been nice while it lasted, the few songs length of fantasy. She closed her eyes against the sudden anguish. The next two scenes and songs flowed around her, but Sharona didn't notice. Her heart, which just moments before, was filled with excitement, deflated and ached too much to concentrate on anything else except the pain. Unbidden, tears slid silently from beneath her lids. Decisively, she pulled her hand from Adrian's, and before he could process the tears on her face or protest her actions, she just about leaped over him and into the aisle headed for the ladies room. The music followed her down the deeply carpeted stairs, as did Adrian, after a brief and shocked hesitation. She made it as far as the bank of telephones when he caught up to her.

"Sh-Sharona."

She stopped but didn't turn. He approached cautiously, like one would approach a wounded lioness. "Sharona. P-please. Look at me." His voice broke over the words, nerves and fear pulling him, love and desire pushing him.

That was a switch … it was usually Sharona begging him to look at her. She turned, fresh unshed tears glistening in the chandelier light right on the tips of her long eyelashes. He didn't want her to hurt or be angry and least of all did he want her to cry. There had been far too much crying lately, and not enough smiles and laughter. The brilliant detective stepped closer and steeled his spine. He reached with both hands and took her face lovingly. He looked into her eyes and was lost in the depths of watery blue-green; lost in them like they were impressionist paintings. Monet-at-Giverny-blue-green. Manet-in-the-park-on-Sunday-blue-green. Adrian forgot everything he was afraid of in that moment, and he forgot everything else too … except wanting this woman. Wanting, desiring, yearning, needing, wishing all rolled into one feeling – love. He had denied himself the most simple pleasures for so many years, of taking a stroll without counting his steps in the back of his head, like making simple decisions about breakfast rather than the need to keep the cereal bar boxes evenly emptied in the cabinet… it all came crashing in – down to this one moment, if he didn't kiss her and tell her how he felt, he would lose it all and give into the phobias and allow them to rule him forever.

She looked up half-fearfully, half-hopefully into his eyes, her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and then she bit the lower one in anxiety. He smiled tenderly and kissed her with the gentle fire that _she_ had built inside of him day-by-day for six long years. Suddenly that fire leaped to life inside of him and the kiss built to a crescendo just as the final notes of the last song of the first act, "Defying Gravity" were being sung – the notes and lyrics rang loud and true in his head as the kiss intensified... "_As someone told me lately, everyone deserves the chance to fly."_ That's how it felt, the words seeped into his head and into the kiss, and they were defying gravity… flying… just Sharona and him. He turned his head and slanted his open mouth over hers, a gentle plunder and a desperate desire at once.

Quickly, the landing by the restrooms and the bar filled with life and activity. The throngs of theater goers didn't even notice them, nor did they notice the crowds. Tentatively, he, the less experienced in these matters, broke the kiss, and Sharona stepped back a bit. She stared up at him – disbelief and desire played over her face, and he moved to kiss her again. They were only inches apart, his hands still threaded loosely in her hair. She placed a hand boldly on his chest at the parting of his jacket, part-caress… part-stop sign. She wavered and felt her knees weaken when she touched him like that for the first time… soft shirt, hard muscle, heat, and a hint of his wildly beating heart… it was a touch that had nothing to do with nursing, and everything to do with healing, but she was determined.

"Whoa. Before this goes any further…" Sharona stepped back further and removed her hand from his chest. She swiped at the unshed tears and grabbed Adrian's hand. She dragged him up the stairs and out onto the street. When they were outside, far enough away from the cigarette addicts to satisfy Adrian, she said, "What is this? What are we doing? What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong?" _Was this a test?_ "Wrong with me?" Adrian said and tilted his head side to side nervously. _A great many things_, but she knew that. _What was she asking him?_

"Yes, for the past six years I could barely get you to take something I'd touched, you once had to gargle for an hour because we were forced into a quick peck on the lips and now suddenly you're kissing me…with your mouth open!"

"Yes, I must have taken leave of my phobias momentarily, Sharona," he said with just enough venom and sarcasm to startle her into silence. _He was hardly ever deliberately mean or nasty._ "I'm trying to tell you something, which apparently you are too confused or deliberately stubborn to understand."

He sighed, consulted the sky and his internal chronometer, as opposed to the non-functioning, fine Swiss watch on his wrist, and continued, "I only have about another eight and a half minutes of intermission, so I-I'll spell it out for you. I …I love you, Sharona. I love how you look, I love how you think, I love how I can know what you're thinking just by the look in your eyes, I love how you adore your son, I love you when you're angry, with me or…or standing up for me, I love how you quit but always come back to me, I love how brave and clever and sexy you are, I love you for your wit and the happy sound of your laugh…the twinkle of your eyes. I want you to be mine so badly I am willing to do anything to prove my feelings and my sincerity." He took a deep breath. "I will shout it from the top of the Mark, I will announce it from the middle of the Embarcadero at lunch hour, I will yell it from the observation platform on the Golden Gate Bridge – and you know how I feel about heights, crowds and bridges…and yelling…" He breathed in deeply – that was quite possibly the longest single group of words he'd spoken at once since…well, since forever. He adjusted his neck, squared his shoulders and grabbed his left hand in his right, massaging the center of his left hand with his right thumb so that he didn't panic. She knew this was his focus activity for when he felt really anxious, as he must have felt now. He waited. Sharona considered him, head tilted, for a moment, unsure of what to say, unsure of him, unsure of herself. He waited.

Finally, she said, "I never identified with Dorothy," in a non sequitur that made Adrian cock his head to one side, squint and ponder her suspiciously. It wasn't exactly the response he'd been hoping for.

"No," Sharona continued, with a shake of her head, as if she was making perfect sense… "I was never the good girl; I was the outsider, the one never good enough. I wasn't the one the hero picked; I always ended up alone with the flying monkeys." She nodded as the memories of a line of bums that stretched from New Jersey to Miami to San Francisco wended their way through her mind. "Adrian, I can't compete with another woman for you, even if she is dead. She was perfect and perfect for you. I am _not_ that girl." She turned her face, ashamed of the tears as much as ashamed of what she'd just said.

Suddenly the tears and the pre-end of act one departure made sense to the bewildered man in front of her. _I'm__ not that girl… I'm not that girl… I'm not that girl._

"Sharona look at me… please." The second time in less than fifteen minutes that he'd issued this order.

Realizing that standing under the brightly lit awning outside of the theater, in a crowd of unusually quiet … and clearly curious people, wasn't the place for this conversation he took her hand and led her to a phone booth on the corner.

"Get in."

"What?"

"Get in." She complied, and when he followed and closed the folding door, then pressed himself against her she gasped.

"Adrian! You're claustrophobic!"

"Yes. I - I am…" he stammered, glancing around with panic creeping up his neck. "Th-thanks for the reminder." But he didn't back down – he looked back at her and said, "Sharona, because of you I can do anything, I can be anything. When I see myself standing beside you, I'm normal. Or as normal as I can ever be… my claustrophobia fades when you're stuck in this small space with me. You make me better, you make me stronger, you make me want to _be_ better and stronger. To try – to try harder … so in this disgusting, germ-ridden, smelly and claustrophobic phone booth, I am… I am telling you that there is no one on this Earth for me beside you. There is no one on the Earth or in any other world that you have to compete with.

"True, I miss Trudy, I always will. I still want…no, no I still _need_ to solve her murder and become a detective with a badge again… but, frankly, I can't do those things without you… you know… you are everything to me… you are not competing – you've won – for better or not, if you want me, I am offering myself to you… it's not much, a mad man with phobias and foibles enough for ten men, but I can offer you my adoration and my _whole_ heart and… and my love."

In the confined space, Sharona's heart expanded until she thought the phone booth couldn't contain it and the two of them. In her next thought, she became conscious of the proximity of their bodies and how they just … _they just fit_. Adrian looked down into her eyes, smiled one of his shy smiles and read her mind, "We fit."

"Yes, I can – I can feel that – I mean, see that," she stammered. It wasn't often that Sharona Fleming was knocked for a loop…but at this moment, she was stunned.

"Adrian, I am so…" moved beyond words…knowing what that speech and confession cost him she continued, "I have so many things I want to say to you…it's all flying around my head, but the most important thing I want to tell you is…" she swallowed hard and took his face in her hands, "is that I love you. I love your brilliant mind, I love your quirks, and I love your wonderful smile – as if you do it just for me… and I love your incredible, beautiful eyes… I could get lost for a month just looking into them, but most importantly, you need to know, I want you to be mine, too, for today and for keeps. I don't want to share you or lose you or walk away from you. I just want you." She ran her fingertips lightly over his arched brows and the backs of her knuckles over his cheeks.

Adrian felt his heart lift once again, and remain light. A distinctly new sensation, one he'd have to take out and examine later, but for the moment he looked into Sharona's eyes and kissed her again. For the first time in a long time, he was off balance but it felt right; Sharona's return kiss was full of acceptance, desire and love. Something niggled in the back of his mind, and then he broke the kiss and gasped…"Sharona! We only have 30 seconds to get back to our seats!"

Rather than being disappointed, Sharona simply smiled her response and allowed Adrian to haul her back up Geary Street, into the theater and into their seats as the lights dimmed for the second act. The second act of the musical passed in a blur… luminous, memorable stage moments were far outweighed by the dazzling reflective flashes of intermission. Snatches of dialogue and lyric wended their way into Sharona's infatuation shrouded thoughts… The unlikely lovers in the play were singing a love song, "Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight, I need help believing, you're with me tonight…_" _Truthfully, she couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that Adrian had made the first move… and one so huge. It was so far out of his character that she felt like she was dreaming. But if she was, she didn't want to wake up.

His kisses had been smooth and seductive, fervent and passionate at the same time. The song went on, "My wildest dreams, could not foresee, lying beside you, with you wanting me…_" _where would this night lead them? She wanted…_ what do I want? _shewondered. But as the characters in the play were singing,_ "_Just for this moment… as long as you're mine…_" _Suddenly, she knew with certainty._ I want what everyone wants. Love. Acceptance. Understanding. Passion. _She believed that she'd found all of that and more… at long last.She wanted to make love with the man sitting beside her, to show him without speaking how the years between them and behind them were just a hint of what they could have together... for as long as destiny allowed. To show him what words couldn't ever fully express... the joy, the love, the desire and the need she felt. She wanted to give him a life worth living…something worth living for… something to hold on to when things got too overwhelming. She didn't know that she'd already done that for him, and so much more.

For his part, Adrian sat with Sharona's hand in his and felt the warmth of her arc through his body. He wanted to hold her hand, hold her in his arms forever. His insides trembled, but not in fear, with a strange mixture of certainty, excitement, anticipation and…an unnatural calm. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and make love with her to show her what he'd never be able to fully articulate. The changes she'd wrought in his life, the happiness and the delight she brought him, the love and the understanding she gave him, the things that he could only hope to repay in kind. He intended to spend the rest of his life trying to show her, although he knew he'd have to take it one day at a time… particularly this first night, he wasn't getting over his debilitating problems with one declaration of love and a few kisses. But now he had a reason to try… a desire to be what she needed what she wanted to make her see how he needed and wanted her. He didn't know that he was already what she needed what she wanted, his faith in her, his trust had shown that to her, and so much more.


	11. Chapter Ten Consummation

WARNING: This chapter is edging closer to an "R" rating… it's not graphic…but there might be something someone finds far more R than PG-13

Chapter Ten - Consummation

The drive home may have taken fifteen minutes, but it felt like five hours to the two people in the Volvo…wanting, needing to be alone and together without distraction, emergency, or a case to solve. The need was keeping pace with the nerves and the wanting with the abject terror. Sharona concentrated on the road, which took every ounce of her effort. Her mind was racing alongside the car, ricocheting from thought to thought, unable to light. The one thought she was able to hang onto for any length of time at all was, _Adrian__ loves me__. He loves me. He loves me. He's in love…with me._

"Your place or mine?" she asked jokingly, trying to ease the pressure.

"Mine. No, no… yours…. No …Mine."

"Adrian."

"Alright…yours."

"It's closer anyway," she grinned playfully at him.

He was nervously fidgeting with all of the car's dials and buttons he could reach without leaning forward. Sharona watched him in her peripheral vision. They didn't say much, they were both too consumed with what had already been said…and what might be about to happen… if one or both of them didn't withdraw. She decided to try for nonchalant normalcy.

"The show was terrific. Thank you." _For as much of the second act as I actually saw,_ she thought. The love scene certainly stood out and the fact that the "wicked witch" got the guy.

"You're welcome. It was. I think…no, I know _I_ had fun." He smiled boyishly. His charm, so long buried, lit his face and Sharona's heart.

Sharona parked on the street outside of her rented house, as always. They'd done this a thousand times. Sharona parking, Adrian "coming in."_ It's no big deal, _she thought. But yet she knew this time it was the biggest deal of all…this time could change everything. He followed her up the walk and surprised her by taking her keys from her hand and unlocking the door. Of course, he had his hand half-way up his sleeve, but that felt "normal" and right. When they entered, she walked in first and flipped on the lights. The living room was ghost-like in the dim illumination of the table lamps. Up until this afternoon, she hadn't spent much more than an hour at a time in this place since Benjy's accident…changing, showering, occasionally catching a nap. But the truth was she had been living at the hospital, not here at home.

"Sit, Adrian," she said as she removed her wrap and hung it in the closet. "Do you want something to drink?" He watched her toss her keys, purse, playbill and a business card from Christophe onto the entry hall table.

"No…no, I'm, you know, I'm fine. Really." He nodded vigorously to back up his statement. He didn't seem fine, Sharona thought, but it would be impolite to say that. He actually seemed more nervous than usual…if that was even possible. She watched him readjust his jacket for the twentieth time in the few minutes they were in the house. He'd had a turn. It would be up to her to make the second huge move of the night.

_Her dress swishes as she walks_, he thought. _Can she tell how nervous I am? Ridiculous, I feel like an incredibly callow schoolboy_. He watched as she casually turned the stereo on as she passed it, the music spilling from the speakers was loud and inappropriate for the situation, the last person to listen to it obviously had a penchant for loud rap music radio stations…he continued to observe her as she backed up and smiled indulgently to herself at what he knew she considered Benjy's weird obsessions.

Slyly, she looked back at him and plucked a CD off the shelf over the stereo. She leaned over and switched to the CD player, popped in the disc and out came the driving, erotic sounds of Pink Floyd's _Learning to Fly_. He nearly smiled as he thought, _leave it to Sharona to eschew the obvious sentimental soundtrack for seduction_, and in another snatch of realization _the_ _lyrics to this song are perfect for this moment_, but he was too edgy to smile at anything. She certainly embraced the sensual over the predictable. She pushed two more buttons and the music rained from the speakers all over the house. Adrian remembered the day he thought he would have a coronary as he watched her teeter on a high ladder, tools and speakers and yards of wire dangling. He feared she would fall off the ladder as she wired the speakers neatly from room to room. "I like music," she'd said with a shrug by way of explanation to his question of "Why?" Tonight he saw the wisdom in her plan as the music spilled lushly from every direction at once. She set the player to repeat the whole CD automatically.

Sharona had an idea to make things go more easily for Adrian...more slowly… more orderly. She walked over to the couch and held out a hand. "Come," she whispered with a hint of a smile. He looked back at her with uncertainty shining in his eyes, but also a hint of the love and desire she'd seen earlier. He took her hand and stood.

She pulled him gently along the hallway towards her bedroom. When they arrived at the door she turned and looked into his eyes. "You don't have to come in…you don't have to be here." She would give him outs when she thought he needed them, until there was no way "out" left.

Silently, he smiled, reached around her, and opened the door. She walked in ahead of him and went to sit on the edge of the bed. The powerful music followed them closely, urging them on. She patted the spot next to her. He hesitated.

Nervously she revealed, "The sheets are clean, just changed them this afternoon."

He looked at her apprehensively.

"Don't get any ideas… they needed to be changed… I certainly had no idea dinner would lead us to…to… wherever this is we're going."

He sat by her side and looked around the room, noting the random placement of the pictures on the walls and the fact that one set of wood blinds was closed "up" and the other was closed "down." He choked back the need to straighten and turned to look uneasily into Sharona's expectant face. Wanting, but not being sure what he was expected to do. Of course, he knew the biology, the physicality and the process of the actual act…but to tread on new ground, with someone new… although Kroger often asked, he always avoided speaking of his intimacy with Trudy.

He still deeply felt the reverent love for her that he always had and thought that discussing their most private of intimacies with a stranger, even if he was a doctor, even if she was so long gone, wasn't appropriate. It wasn't even prudishness; it was simple respect for his late wife. _Why didn't Kroger get that?_ Often, after a session with Kroger where the doctor brought up the subject, he'd inspect his feelings on the matter when he was back in the solitude of his apartment. Intellectually, he knew that his and Trudy's love life hadn't been dynamic, exotic or creative… but it had been satisfying in the quiet intensity of it, in the fact that they were able to have tangible proof, a physical expression of their love.

But, if he was honest with himself, which in most instances, he tried to avoid at all costs, he'd never felt the overwhelming emotions that threatened to swallow him when he looked into Sharona's eyes. Where Trudy had been quiet, almost chaste, Sharona was vibrant and sexual. More alive and present in the world than anyone he'd ever met…and, he realized belatedly, still looking at him expectantly.

When he didn't move, and after only the slightest indecision, Sharona pulled him down onto the mattress in a swift motion; they were facing each other, fully clothed and lying on their sides. She gazed at him with a mixture of good humor and overwhelming love. He smiled back, tentatively, as if testing the ability of his lips to curve. Then she scooted closer to him and slowly, gently, placed feathery kisses on the corners of his mouth, of his eyes… soft, wonderfully ethereal touches that conveyed her feelings. She didn't touch him anywhere else. He was nervous, _no, scared_, she realized, _and I don't want to ruin this or upset him_. _He'll__ get used to me, of us, of this._ _He has to…because I'm never letting him go_.

Adrian, for his part, had expected a much more aggressive Sharona, and the thought had both frightened him and excited him at the same time. This quiet, gentle consideration was exactly why he'd fallen in love with her. How he'd been able to fall in love with her. Yes, she could be contrary, ornery and difficult, a mirror to his own behaviors; but she could also have the deepest compassion and empathy. Without words, she understood his anxiety about the new and fear of the unknown…and this…this intimacy even after a six-year relationship full of other kinds of familiarity, was new and unknown.

"Adrian," she whispered against his cheek, more a sigh than an actual word. He propped himself on one elbow and placed his other hand under her chin.

"I want to make you happy," he said quietly.

"You're already making me happy." _Deliriously so,_ she thought. She went on, "You are making me happy. Just by trying. Just by being here with me…" She fell softly backwards onto her back and continued, "I want you to set the pace, I want you to tell me what _you_ want…"

She was thinking about showers, additional sets of clean sheets…and _other_ types of protection… but didn't say those things or draw attention to them, instead she said, "because the only thing that I really want is you here with me tonight, and I already have that. Whether or not anything else hap…"

He stilled her with a tender kiss. He moved back, took one of her hands, turned it palm-up and pulled it towards his mouth. He calmly kissed her fingertips while looking unwaveringly into her eyes, although his heart was beating wildly. Then he drew her delicate fingers to the buttons on his jacket. He nodded and said, "One step at a time."

Suddenly, it was her turn to be nervous, she slowly undid the buttons… there was no rush. For once, she was being careful, and taking small, _Adrian_-_steps_ in the solution of a problem; Sharona suddenly saw the wisdom in taking things one step at a time. Her anticipation and her desire were building and they'd barely begun to learn how to love each other.

She undid the three buttons on his jacket and pushed it off of his arm -- reveling in the wiry strength of the shoulder she caressed. As she touched him for the millionth time, but really, for the very first time, she was amazed that the man possessed of so many demons also possessed an incredibly strong and muscular body. His jacket pooled around his bent right arm and he quickly shed it, folded it and placed it on the bed behind him.

When he turned back to her, he considered her seriously for a moment, and pondered the next move he should make. For only the second time in his whole life he actually wanted to see another human being nude. Even though, technically, he'd already seen Sharona naked, in those degrading photos a few years ago. He hadn't wanted to see them, but they had pertained to a case. At the time he hadn't focused on her body as much as he'd studied her expression. Those were photos of a scared girl, unhappy with her life and frightened of what she was doing. He wanted … he digressed from his own internal monologue for a moment as he studied her here and now, _God,_ _I want her… to be inside of her, _hethought with wonder rather than aversion… he mentally shook himself and regained his original thought… he also wanted to see Sharona truly happy again, loving him; a woman who was sure of herself – the way he always saw her – dressed or not.

He took his time and removed the clip that bound her hair in a complicated and slightly messy style that he had learned through years of discussion took a lot of effort to achieve. He pushed the freed and riotous curls away from her face, and then he ran his hand up and down her arms and over her bare shoulders as he looked unblinkingly into her eyes.

He was used to quite a lot of Sharona's uncovered skin…he'd spent six years, no matter the weather, treated to bare arms and legs and glimpses of creamy breasts until some days he'd thought he'd go even more mad than he already was. So many times he wanted to shout – "get dressed" but was afraid to, for fear that she really would stop wearing her "normal" clothes and the days of his observation and _appreciation_ would be over.

When he competently worked the rhinestone clasps and slid the thin straps of her lavender dress off her shoulders to kiss the places they had been, he marveled that someone could be so soft and cool to the touch and yet strong and searing to the mind. He moved over her and placed kisses with careful deliberation down her neck, across her shoulders and over the tops of her breasts. She sighed softly with pleasure. As his hands followed his lips, she sighed deeply again and arched into him involuntarily, allowing him to take total advantage of the access and slide her clingy dress from her slender form. He heard her sharp intake of breath when he slid the silky lavender material down to reveal the lacey confection she wore beneath the pretty dress. He raised an eyebrow and smiled inwardly. _Secrets_, he thought, _yes, demure could hide lots of secrets._

While he cherished her with his eyes, caressed her with his hands and loved her with his mouth, she began to slowly unbutton his shirt. Wherever she could reach, she touched as she worked the buttons through their holes. Frustrated with her slow progress, she sat up so they were chest to chest; he was nestled against her lap, evocatively between her thighs, sinuous arms supporting him above her, hands gripping the headboard for leverage. He kissed her relentlessly as she blindly tussled with the buttons; she murmured apologies to his ironing skills against his lips, and drew his shirt off then tossed it aside. Adrian barely noticed – now was not the time for folding. He was too busy gazing into her eyes and seeing his own hunger reflected there.

He rose to his knees and pulled each of her legs up around his waist in a suggestive and blatant manner, forcing her to fall back on her elbows and watch him with slumberous eyes. With a roguish grin she'd never seen before, he teased her by simply helping her slip off those sexy, dangerous heels. He slowly slid the strips of satin from her ankles and they dropped onto the area rug with two soft thuds. His shoes followed, along with socks, t-shirt and belt. She was completely captivated by this new side of the man she thought she knew by heart. He bent over her and pressed kisses through the lacey material on the softly, slightly rounded center of her belly and on the gentle slopes of her breasts, shoulders and collarbones.

Sharona traced her fingers lightly up his chest, running her hands over the warm skin, through soft hair and up to his neck where she laced her fingers together. She impatiently pulled him towards her for a searing, tantalizing kiss. He felt the lace of her slip press against his bare chest and abdomen, enflaming him further in a primal, only half-understood way. He forgot nudity, he forgot self-consciousness, he forgot everything except his Sharona. The feel, the taste, the look of her in the pale moonlight that wended through the improperly closed blinds. He'd seen her in moonlight before, of course, they worked together days and also many, many nights, but tonight she was glowing, face flushed with desire, hair spread like gilt angel's wings over the pink pillowcase.

He held her tightly with one arm and ran his free hand up her leg, over thigh, beneath the lace of her slip towards the secrets he wanted to learn about this woman in his arms. Panic tried to edge in -- he valiantly fought it and allowed desire to overtake him.

She placed her hand on his, looked at him with passion-glazed eyes and said, "Are you sure?"

He nodded, "Never been surer. About anything. Nothing could be more right." He pulled her slip from her in a move that would have seemed practiced coming from anyone else, but with Adrian it was purely practical need that drove him in the right direction. Sharona gave him one of her familiar… "What are you waiting for?" looks. And he, Adrian Monk, phobic to the extreme, hater of nudity, feasted his eyes on the creature that inspired him to be a more complete human being. Encouraged him to experiment and learn. Gave him a reason to get up each morning and gave him memories to dream of when he lay down at night. When he finally dragged his eyes back to hers, they were full of the kind of desire that could set a soul on fire.

"I love you, Sharona," he said clearly, no mistaking his intent, no hesitation, no fear.

As her spirit began to blaze, she reached for him again, and her eyes unclouded for a moment, "I love you, Adrian, with all of my heart." She traced her fingers down his chest, over his taut stomach, to the buttons and zipper on his trousers – a question in her eyes. His hand confidently displaced hers and with two swift movements, he was as unclothed as she. She filled his senses, his hands and his heart and Adrian's last coherent thought was that he was never going to let her go.

Dawn broke quietly, and in Sharona's pretty, pale pink bedroom, disorganized though it was, the light filtered into the room in that way that cast shadows and made the entire world seem a collection of grays and blacks and whites…so simple and lovely. Adrian woke, as was his custom, just as the first rays of light were beginning to seep in, however, he woke in a place and in a way that was totally alien to him. He calmly contemplated the way everything looked and, more importantly, felt. Sharona was beside him, touching him in a myriad of places at once…each spot on his body that hers touched was alive with electricity, each spot individually aware of her, heightening his seemingly unquenchable desire for her, honing his knowledge of her, all while she breathed softly and slept. They were both nude, sheets disheveled and barely covering them, just how they'd fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the night. Adrian's aversion to nudity – even his own, usually guided his attire – morning, noon and night, waking or sleeping, but in one night – _one long night_, he thought with a satisfied, masculine smile, he just didn't care about being undressed or the fact that Sharona was undressed or that they were undressed together. The tousled sheets barely registered for him as he reflected on how they got that way.

He thought they resembled a photograph in the still hush of the dawn, and he tried to memorize the details of this first morning – he ignored the insistent urge of his compulsions to straighten, to clean – to shower again although he'd done so once in the middle of last night - and dress immediately, it was an effort, but he wanted this time with Sharona sleeping in his arms on this first morning more than he wanted to give in to his other basic needs.

He'd been right – they fit. He'd known they would, and as he looked down the length of their entwined bodies, only partially visible in the soft light that was more like the gloaming than the dawn, he was amazed at how two such dissimilar creatures could fit so flawlessly to make a whole. He was hollow where she was rounded, she was smooth where he was rough, he was dark where she was fair, and she was soft where he was hard. They'd ached for each other in the way that only people who have denied themselves or been denied the pleasure of love for so long, that when it was found and returned it was miraculous and painful all at once. Firsts were so important. This first time together, this first morning after, the first moments of their awakened feelings for one another. At last, the ache inside each of them had been replaced by a feeling of completion, of rightness, of contentment.

Finally, still heroically controlled, but unable to resist the quiet beckoning of coffee from the kitchen, he quietly and carefully disengaged himself from his lover …_Lover…Adrian Monk has a lover,_ he thought and smiled to himself. He softly kissed the top of her head after he rose; she murmured his name in her sleep and burrowed into the warm spot he'd left behind. It made him beam like a child who slept on a lost tooth and woke up to a prize under his pillow to realize that she was dreaming of him, and thinking of him even while sleeping. He watched her sleep for a moment more, then grabbed his shirt from where, last night, in the heat of the moment, Sharona had impetuously - and to his horror, completely unnoticed, and later, ignored, by him – thrown it … over the lamp shade. He scanned the room in the dim light and found his boxers under the chair in the corner… _how on Earth… never mind_. His shirt was wrinkled beyond repair for the moment, but it didn't seem as big a crisis as it usually would. He rolled up the sleeves to what he thought was a jaunty, careless angle – and yet it took him several tries to get them even. He wandered down the hall, unprecedentedly bare footed, almost enjoying the sensation of the cool, smooth, dust-free wood floors, and noticed, not for the first time, that Sharona had pictures of him in her home… pictures of their trips and adventures and pictures of she and Benjy from his babyhood to current ones and all the stages between…photos of Benjy and him together… Adrian thought about the boy and frowned. Just because he, Adrian Monk, _had a lover_…he just like rolling that around in his mind, he admitted to himself with a reproachful smile, didn't mean that business wasn't business as usual. His business was investigation, discovery, summation. It was all so simple. So orderly. And his business had suffered lately, he had to get back on that track… one night with Sharona was not going to change that. No matter how great the night … _and the morning_, he silently congratulated himself… had been. This was his _family_, unknowingly echoing Sharona's unspoken thoughts from the previous night. He had to protect them, release them, resolve this for them. He poured his coffee, cleaned swiftly, and left the kitchen as he'd found it, minus eight ounces of strong, black coffee and a chunky white mug.

Aimless, an unusual condition for Adrian, he wandered back towards Sharona's bedroom thinking of the shower, there was a bar of Lever 2000 with his name on it…literally, along with Tilex, Scrubbing Bubbles and an assortment of Lysol products…but on the way he noticed something dangling from a shelf in Benjy's room – and compulsion suppression only carried him so far in one morning. He stopped and leaned against the door jamb. The boy was far more organized than his mother – genetics, Adrian supposed, something to be said for nature over nurture in this case… The offending item was actually a medal of some sort that had obviously been placed by deliberation and fore-thought, not accident or haphazard. _God, I love that kid_. Adrian sipped his coffee as he looked more closely and discovered it was a medal from Benjy's last year of pee-wee basketball from the year Benjy was eleven. There were others – one from the year Adrian and Sharona had met and Benjy was seven. Even then it was apparent he had a flair for basketball. The baseball skill took a little longer to develop and took some encouragement form Adrian and some coaching from Scott Gregorio to blossom. There were a myriad of other trophies – most with mini basketballs on them. Apparently Benjy had obsessions too. Maybe that's what made him so thrilled to be around Adrian…and vice versa. Adrian smiled with what could only be called paternal pride when he saw photos on Benjy's shelf of the two of them, one of them after a game last year …Adrian trying not to get covered in pre-teen perspiration, Benjy grinning widely for Sharona's camera.

There were other photos. Benjy and a pack of boys – the three who had been at the hospital the other day and the two that had not. He took that picture off the shelf and studied it. He replaced it exactly where he'd found it and picked up the next, same gang of youngsters, five standing against a car, one hanging out a rear window, squinting in the sunlight. Then there were many pictures of Benjy with different medals around his neck, always standing on the center of a podium with three levels, more often than not, two of his friends with medals were flanking him on lower steps of the podium. The pictures reminded him of something, but then he felt a pair of hands wend their way up his back and onto his shoulders then down his chest to snake around his waist. A year ago he'd have jumped twelve feet and spilled his coffee, hell, last week he'd have jumped at least six feet and at least dripped. This morning he felt… just …perfect. He nearly laughed out loud at the thought of a perfect Adrian Monk.

He placed the mug on a pad on Benjy's desk and turned into Sharona's embrace. She was wearing something short, satin and tawny, which made the tone of her fair skin radiant and gilded. She looked so lovely in the morning light – no, she looked lovely in any light… this morning she looked …satisfied, content. It filled him with pride that he was able to put that expression on her face… loving Sharona was definitely an experience he'd been unprepared for – the heat, the passion … the athletics… it wasn't neat or quiet in any respect… quite a difference from the relationship he'd had with Trudy. He put his arms around her waist in a mirroring gesture.

"Good morning," she all but sang.

"H-hi," he greeted her almost shyly. "Sleep well?"

"Mm hm. You?" _That smile she wore_… Adrian's heart was beating so hard he could hear it inside his head and imagined that Sharona could see it pressing against his shirt.

"Yes, better than I have in a long time."

"I missed you when I woke up."

He kissed her forehead, and nodded. "I was restless, and I was just thinking about some things," he paused to admire the way her eyes twinkled up at him. "I may have a few ideas about the case… and I was ruminating on how two people that are so different could be so perfect together… and last night—last night was perfect."

"It really was. The best night of my life…next to the night I had Benjy." Sharona turned to look into Benjy's room, "I miss him. I want him to come home so badly."

"Let's go see him."

"Now?"

"Yeah…well, you know, after a shower…and breakfast…and clean clothes…"

"How about a trip back to bed?" Sharona asked suggestively as she ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders and linked them around his neck.

"What about… what about Benjy?"

"Not to be insensitive to my one and only child, as much as I miss him, but for the first time in over thirteen years, not to mention the last five weeks, I think Benjy's mom needs some special attention first…" She giggled girlishly, broke free from his loose embrace and took off for her bedroom. Always one to forgo a challenge, Adrian decided to go against his nature and rise to the occasion. He pursued her into her bedroom, the idea of a solution to the case forgotten for the time being; the only thing on his mind was getting his hands and mouth on Sharona and having hers on him.

They made love and slept and made love and slept through the early part of the day, a breakthrough for Adrian...he slept in daylight and didn't disappear. He'd spent the day in various states of _dishabille_ and didn't die of exposure, another advance. They got out of bed only for food, to shower and to call Benjy to tell him about their dinner and the trip to the theater, the "G-rated" version obviously, and nothing else. They wanted to savor their new bond privately; they had time to tell people, time to tell Benjy, whom they'd agreed would be thrilled at any rate. It had been his gentle shove that had sent them sailing in this direction, after all.

A local news station was on the television, muted, but the flickering pictures occasionally caught their attention away from each other. They'd "unmute" the TV for a while to hear a story or for the weather breaks the station took, the sports scores… Sharona liked basketball nearly as much as Benjy did, so the NBA scores were important to her at this time of year; but their attention was always drawn back to the other person in the bed.

It happened when they were lying in Sharona's pink-sheeted bed talking, drowsy and content.

Adrian was busily tracing his fingers over the delicate planes of Sharona's exquisite face and gracefully curved neck then following his fingers with soft kisses, when a commercial flashed garishly from the screen, one about a car-repair shop. Adrian momentarily was diverted from his exploration of Sharona's supple and smooth skin and looked over at the TV for a moment, and then he looked over through the open door – towards Benjy's bedroom. He sat up abruptly. His brain had subconsciously done it again. Connecting seemingly random ideas and forming a sound theory to resolve a case. _NBA… car repair…__ Benjy… photos… memories… souvenirs… medal… six years… podiums… tripping… headlight… anger._

"Sharona…" he said urgently.

"What?" she asked lazily, eyes closed, not picking up on his tone of voice, but definitely missing his earlier ministrations to the sensitive skin on her neck and face.

"I think I've got it."

"Got what?" she asked, too satiated to open her eyes.

"The answer… the pieces just fell into place." He got up and began the search for his clothes once again.

"To what?"

"To Benjy's case!" he said with mild irritation.

"Really?" Her eyes flew open, and she sat up with excitement at the thought that Adrian had solved the case, and at the same time, she admitted to herself, she sat up so she could lasciviously watch him throw his clothes on at random. _Will I ever have enough of him…even in serious moments like these? God, I hope not. _

"Come…" he held out a hand to her, echoing her method of persuasion from the previous night, and waited as she grabbed the rumpled sheet from the bed, wrapped it around herself and was ready to follow him.

"Look!" He pointed triumphantly to the photo on the wall in front of which he'd stopped.

Sharona looked at a picture of Benjy, smiling a gapped-toothed, eleven-year-old smile as he tried to spin a basketball on his finger. Adrian hovering by the passenger side of the Volvo in the background. "I guess I'm an idiot. I don't get what this picture has to do with the case."

"Simple, what do you see?"

"Benjy doing his imitation of a Harlem Globetrotter, you impatiently waiting for me to go somewhere… a pretty day. The outside of Benjy's middle school… that's it."

Adrian rushed into Benjy' room and was back quickly with a magnifying glass the boy had used to study bugs one summer, which now collected dust on his shelf next to the pinned insects. "Look more closely."

She looked at the street signs, the other cars and came up empty. She shrugged and shook her head at them. He held the magnifier over the portion of the picture he was in. Right over the space where a right headlight should have been.

"Sharona, this is right after you… after _I_… smashed the headlight of your car. You hadn't gotten it fixed immediately."

"Right…we argued about the money and the insurance…remember?"

"Yes, yes…now isn't the time to be petty. Look at this." He took her to Benjy's bedroom and pointed to the shelf where the medals and pictures stood.

"Yeah…he won that medal the same year – it was his last year of pee wee basketball."

"When you had the car fixed, did you have to have someone else take him to practice?" He pulled the picture of the six boys leaning on the burgundy car from the shelf. She saw that Benjy had the exact same gapped-toothed, eleven-year-old smile. Apparently, it had been taken very close to the time of the hallway picture. She recalled taking it, but not when or even why.

"Yeah, one of the other mothers offered. It seemed like a good idea, he'd have had to miss practice otherwise."

"Sharona where'd you get the car repaired?"

"I don't know; let me look in the card box. I'm sure I kept a business card."

One of Sharona's least organized endeavors was the collection of business cards. His memory conjured the business card from Christophe on the table in the front hall, exactly where she'd dropped it last night… where were the rest of them? He followed her at a distance because she was wrapped in just a sheet, and it dragged behind her as she walked into the next room. They would definitely not be spending another night with those sheets, Adrian thought with distaste and a slight case of the willies.

She climbed the step stool and took a metal box from a shelf over the phone in the kitchen. As she came down, the sheet slipped a few inches down her back and before she could hitch it up again, he paused his ruminating about clean sheets and about Benjy's case long enough to plant an impulsive, warm kiss on her bare shoulder blade. She smiled back over her shoulder at him and sighed as she went back to the cards. "I can't understand why you want this card…it's been more than two years since I had the car repaired," she said with doubt in her voice. "Ah…here. Here it is!" She handed it to him and he looked at it with unease. His eyes grew larger in amazement, but not surprise.

"Sharona…" Adrian Monk didn't believe in coincidences. This was the shop that fixed Sharona's light on that long ago day – the only time he'd driven her car and of course, as was typical of him, smashed it. He had to ask her how she came to use this particular shop. "Why did you go to this repair shop?"

"Uh… I don't remember."

"Did… did the insurance company choose it for you?"

"No, no. I think I asked someone for a reputable place that would handle it with the insurance company directly…" She paused to think back to that day. She smiled when she recalled Adrian's joy at doing well before the police review board; he'd literally danced in the street. He'd insisted on driving, that she not treat him like an invalid. Then his hopes, and hers as well, had been dashed days later… it had been a bad time for both of them. Getting the car fixed became a priority only when they got their next case, one that they had to work at night – she needed her headlight in order to drive.

"It's important," he said impatiently.

"I'm thinking…" she said pretend-whining, secretly glad that the Adrian she knew…_and_ _loved_…wasn't going to change completely because things around them and between them had changed.

"Think...think faster," he chided with a playful grin and a caress up her arm that gave her goose bumps. It was a caress that also served to contradict his edginess despite the serious need for the information, and to soften his impatience with her. He knew, contrary to Sharona's unvoiced beliefs, that things _should_ change. Change would come… due as much to the changes between them as much as to the ones happening inside him. For the first time, possibly ever, he realized that things like obsessions, phobias and OCD weren't the actual problem in his life, Sharona apparently loved him despite the difficulties he had getting through the day. He was only able to tackle the daily challenges of survival with her by his side and because she expected him to rise to her challenges. That might never change. She made his living possible, but it appeared he did that for her as well. His problem, then, was his inability to completely empathize or care about the needs of others. During the past six years it was practically the only thing they truly argued about.

So the one thing that he thought really had to change was the level of regard he had for her feelings and her needs. As tough as she acted, there was vulnerability under the warm skin – a vulnerability that was now held in his unsteady hands. A vulnerability that he was now charged, by virtue of loving this complex and sensitive woman, with handling carefully and protectively.

She swatted playfully at his distracting hand on her arm, and concentrated. "I think I asked one of Benjy's friends' parents… or maybe I was just talking about how I needed the car repaired and someone suggested this place."

She rummaged through the rest of the cards and began to tap them neatly into piles as she tried to recall the conversation. It had been about two years ago… she was lucky she remembered two months ago. Suddenly, a name came to her. "Munroe."

"What?"

"Mitch Munroe, one of the kids Benjy is friends with. You've met him."

"Yeah, he's the one with the father that's loud, uncouth, obnoxious and inappropriate. What does that have to do with the card?"

"Benjy knows him from pee-wee basketball."

"And…" Adrian anxiously willed her to make a point. Following his earlier inner pep-talk about patience and protecting the feelings of this woman that he loved, he stopped himself from behaving like an impatient ass.

"Mitch Munroe's father worked in an auto body shop, and he gave me the card. I remember that the place was nice and clean. You'd love it. That's all I remember."

Adrian took a deep breath and looked at the card again. _Al's Auto Appeal_. "You're sure?"

"Yes Adrian," Sharona rolled her eyes at the refrigerator, "I'm sure."

"Okay. Okay. Come here." She turned from the cards on the counter and followed him back to Benjy's room, exasperated and concurrently consumed with getting back to bed…the hall was not as warm as her bed had been just minutes ago…and getting warmer … until Adrian's deft mind had interrupted his deft hands…She was too distracted to be a part of Adrian's wending, complex and long explanation. She tempered her normal impatience out of consideration for her lover's feelings and his need for organization.

"Look at this picture." Benjy and five of his good friends after a practice one day – long ago…uniforms, a purplish, no, burgundy, car… one kid hanging out the window… the rest leaning on the car. Suddenly a smidge of understanding began to dawn.

"That's Benjy with Stephen, Matt, Charlie, TJ and Mitch. You know these kids."

"Which one is Mitch?""

"He's hanging out the window of the car, red head on the end."

Adrian suppressed his exhilaration. "What did you say his name was?"

"Mitch Munroe."

"That's the part I don't understand. He looks just like this woman I met at Al's Auto Appeal right after the accident."

"Oh, yeah. That's his mom, I think she owns the shop… her dad was in the business had no sons… yada yada…"

"Yada yada?" he was puzzled.

"Yeah, long story short, she inherited the business and made it in a man's world. She brags about it all the time, it's insufferable. She married the shop manager, you know, Mr. Obnoxious, and they had Mitch. I think they have a little girl now too."

"What was the name of the shop when she inherited it?"

"I don't know… I wasn't living here that long ago."

"What's Mitch's mother's name?"

"Ah...Alison Munroe? No, I think professionally she uses Williams…no Willis. Alison Willis." That was it. Willis' Auto World – the computer run had turned up the name change - but it made no real difference. The people were the same. So was the fact that the tidy little shop ran a tidy little insurance fraud scam then and quite possibly now.

Adrian sank into the chair by Benjy's desk. Some relief poured through him. He was getting closer. Suddenly those five messages he'd gotten made more sense.

"Sharona, we need to go see Benjy."

"Now?"

"Yes, now." Adrian paced, thought, and made connections while Sharona quickly showered and dressed. To Adrian's surprise she was ready in just twenty minutes.

"I didn't know women could do that," he said with wonder on their way out to the car.

"What?"

"Get ready so quickly."

She laughed, "If you'd seen the look on your face before, you'd have hurried too."

"Believe me, I will."

Sharona privately doubted it, but again, consciously decided that for harmony's sake she'd avoid her usual sarcastic comment for today. "Can't you tell me anything?" she asked as she put the key in the ignition.

"Not until I understand it completely myself."

"Alright." They arrived at Adrian's in less than ten minutes – a new personal best for Sharona. He was so focused on his thoughts that he hadn't commented on the two stop signs she passed and one yellow light she'd ignored.

He didn't make her park ten times, instead he nearly leapt from the car before she'd put it into park. This certainly was an Adrian she'd never seen before…the past 24 hours had been a revelation of all sorts of new and interesting facets of this man. By the time Sharona made it inside, Adrian was in the shower, clothes already in the hamper, instead of strewn along the hallway as hers would have been. In a bold move, she laid out his fresh clothes – unsure if that was some sort of breach of "new-relationship-etiquette." But it would save time, and it wasn't as though she'd never put away his clothes. She touched all of his belongings, intimately, all the time. She was going to have to work on the Ziploc thing, though. That drove her batty.

His usual twenty minute shower was shortened by eight minutes. A lot of time for a person who had a strict routine… an incredible amount of time for someone like Adrian. He walked out of the bathroom in a robe, smelling deliciously of shampoo, soap and deodorant; the scent of a variety of cleaning products wafted after him. She smiled indulgently.

He was rubbing his hair with a towel and looked up to see Sharona watching him from the chaise in the corner. One arched blonde eyebrow raised in…anticipation? Interest? _Will I be able to get used to this? _He thought as a tremor of fear combined with sudden desire crawled up his spine. She'd been in his bedroom a thousand times if she'd been there once – but now the bed loomed largely in his peripheral vision. The sensation wasn't altogether unpleasant… the thrill of lust, the shiver of panic, the pleasure of anticipation combined. _Jesus_… he was dying for her again – here in the room he'd shared with Trudy. Apparently his desire had no boundaries or understanding of appropriate restraint. This out-of-control feeling was definitely a new sensation for him… one he didn't think he'd ever conquer... or want to conquer. In two seconds she's going to be on that bed if he didn't get himself together. He got hold of his senses – propriety, or the lack thereof, wasn't his top priority at the moment. He straightened his neck and rolled a shoulder as he retrained his focus on the task of dressing and getting to Benjy. He saw that she'd laid out his clothes – no one had ever done that – no one but Sharona would have dared. He found, to his astonishment, that rather than feeling annoyed or out of synch, he felt loved and cared for… even if she didn't pick the right socks.

"Thank you," he said with sincerity.

She rose, walked to him, surreptitiously breathed in the clean scent of him and said, "Are you sure you don't want to hang it all up and start over on your own?"

"No, I'm- I'm sure. Well, not about the socks. But otherwise, you know, it was great of you… to do that, and I'm sure."

With another smile, she kissed him fleetingly on the lips and left him to dress. There was no reason to make him feel like he was on display. He may not have thought the human body was beautiful, particularly his own, but she felt that she had to disagree with him, especially about his self-assessment, and would like to have stayed and watch him dress. But still, privacy was important in all relationships and she knew he needed it more than others.

With a huge sigh that encapsulated both her lust and her happiness, she walked into the pristine hallway. She noticed once again something was different. She thought back to Adrian's bedroom, and now to the blank walls in the hallway. Dizzy with comprehension and disbelief, she quickly walked to the living room and sat, much as she had the previous evening, gingerly on the edge of the sofa and uneasily looked over her shoulder at the wall next to the couch. She knew what the difference was now. It filled her with happiness and warmth as well as a tinge of painful remorse as she realized the difference was that all of the photographs of Trudy, and the ones of Adrian and Trudy, were missing from their places of honor.

Table tops, prominent wall positions, and most glaringly in her mind's eye she could see his dresser when she went to get his socks just now, their wedding picture was gone. Sharona had loved that picture of them. They looked so young and happy and hopeful. Adrian in particular wore a look that was unguarded and free. Tears came to her eyes when she realized he'd done it for her. He took away the reminders of his previous life, of the love of his life, so that he could come to her with a clear conscience and a fresh start. And she had been her notoriously difficult, bitchy self when she arrived the night before. Embarrassment stained her cheeks and she swallowed the lump in her throat as the hot tears she couldn't stop coursed in powerful streams down her cheeks.

As she cried, she laughed aloud as well. She hugged herself – trying to find a way to contain the elation she felt inside – knowing that Adrian loved her enough to try and move forward, knowing he was close to solving the case and that Benjy was improving daily and that their future together was looking to be a reality rather than the agonizing dream it had been a mere twenty-four hours earlier. She also tried to contain the overwhelming sadness she felt – like when a favorite book ended or a romantic movie concluded sadly. She'd lived with the romance of Adrian and Trudy Monk for so long that it was like a cherished fairy tale or an Arthurian legend complete with a brave knight and a perfect princess. Although it was good for her that their story had finally reached its conclusion, she still ached in an ambiguous way for the loss and the ending of the fairy tale. She wished that Trudy could be happy for them in some way, and let them know if she could give her blessing to them.

She tried to compose herself before he walked diffidently out of his bedroom, dressed as she'd chosen him to be, except for the socks. She sniffed and quickly tried to hide the evidence of her tears.

He wanted to please her, and he liked the ensemble even if it wasn't meant for a Saturday afternoon. He wasn't sure when it was meant for, but he felt as comfortable as it was possible for him to feel on a warm April day and still be wearing several layers of clothing. He stopped fiddling with his buttons long enough to look at her clearly for a moment. He caught her expression, and saw the tracks of tears that she had tried unsuccessfully to hide. Worried about what could have happened in the few minutes they'd been apart, he asked, "Sharona? You okay?" It was a familiar question from a voice and mind unfamiliar with caring about the feelings of others. Except for her…he'd always cared for her, he just hadn't always known how to show it.

"Yes," she lied.

"You're lying." She smiled an unsteady smile. He'd learned a great deal from the incident with the elephant at the circus.

"Yes, I am." He moved to sit beside her. "Adrian, I realized – I realized what the difference in the apartment is."

He nodded sagely. "It was time. I had to try to let go in order to take hold of something that I really want and need more than I need to cling to the past." She dipped her head and hiccupped softly. He continued, "It's not that I'm totally over the past, and I may never be, but I can still give you what you deserve, Sharona. I swear I can."

She had no doubts about that. He had loved her last night, and this morning … and early this afternoon… with a passion she'd never known and he held her with a tenderness she'd only dreamed of – if this was only the start of what she could expect from their love, their future was going to be wonderfully fulfilling. She had patience and they had time.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

She nodded and took his hand. "Let's go."

"You sure?" he asked, finally being the one in control, in charge, but letting her make the ultimate decision.

"Yes. We have a crime to solve." She smiled more confidently and stood up with a bounce.

He stood and kissed her softly. "Let's go end the bad and start the good."


	12. Chapter Eleven Summation

Chapter Eleven - Summation

Benjy was watching the NBA semi-finals on television when Adrian and Sharona arrived. Sharona went to him and kissed him noisily on his cheek, his response was the usual swipe and grimace. Adrian smiled, a few years earlier his reaction might have be exactly the same, but for different reasons. Germs definitely trumped adolescent embarrassment in the hierarchy of his teenage years…and germs trumped nearly everything else in his adulthood.

"Hi," Adrian said with a brief wave.

"Hi Mom, Mr. Monk. What's up?"

"Benjy, I'm not sure how to tell you this…" Adrian paused with a frown of consternation.

Benjy frowned. "Just tell it, Mr. Monk."

"Well, first, I want to say thank you for convincing me to take your mother out last night." Sharona smiled. She knew he'd been up to something when she left yesterday. Good to see her Benjy-instincts were still in tune. Apparently her son and her … her lover… she smiled again at the idea, had discussed some aspect of last night before it had happened. _Benjy must know how Adrian feels_, she mused. _He seems okay with it_. That relieved her, even though she had been certain he'd be happy about the change in their relationship. She'd have to have a heart-to-heart with him when they were through with this case and he was feeling up to it. Adrian continued, "We're here because we need your help to solve a case."

"Cool!" Benjy exclaimed. "What case?" Adrian threw Sharona a glance over his shoulder. He was telling her to answer Benjy.

"Your case, honey," Sharona said simply.

"Really? You know what happened?"

Adrian replied, "Sort of. I'm just not sure about these." He laid the copies of the 4 notes on Benjy's tray table. Benjy looked at them with surprise. "What is it Benjy?" Adrian asked when he saw the boy's expression.

"That's weird."

"Weird? How?" His mother asked.

Benjy reached over to his bedside table and said, "I found this under my pillow when I woke up this morning." He placed a folded yellow sheet of paper next to the white copies on his tray table. Adrian poked it with his ubiquitous pen and was able to see the square, regular handwriting that said "Benjy" on the cover of the folded sheet of paper.

"Do you recognize the handwriting, Benjy?" Adrian asked as he prodded the note open again. The letter "e" glared up at him from the inside of the open note.

"I might. It's pretty much the same as Mrs. Hardaway taught way back in third grade. Lots of kids write this way."

"So you're saying this could be from someone you know? A kid your age?"

"Sure."

"Can you be more specific?" Adrian probed.

"Nah… I don't look at peoples' writing – except my own."

"You never pass notes in school?" Sharona recalled several phone calls on this subject from various teachers over the years.

"Well, yeah, we used to – not in a long time, though." Benjy replied angelically.

"Benjy, now isn't the time to cover for someone or for yourself," she said sternly.

"I'm not. We IM now or we text message each other. We don't get into as much trouble that way." She'd forgotten that feature on the cell phone she'd given him. The cell phone that was supposed to be for "emergencies only."

"You still shouldn't be doing that. No wonder you're failing math"

"Can we get back on the topic?" Adrian asked with dismay at the departure from the subject.

"Sure, Adrian, sorry." She smiled vibrantly at him and he almost lost his train of thought again. He sighed audibly and turned back to Benjy.

"Wow…I didn't get it before, but now it kinda makes sense," Benjy nodded as he looked at the five pieces of paper in front of him.

"Well, now the five notes spell 'horse,' and I still don't get it." Monk said with frustration.

Apologetically, Benjy said, "You sort of have to know about playground games, Mr. Monk. Not to mention basketball."

"Which is why I came to you, Benjy." Adrian said partly with resignation, partly with a sense of pride.

"Well, it's a basketball game."

"What is?"

"H.O.R.S.E. "Benjy spelled it out. "We play it and we also use the 'code' for practically everything."

"Okay, two more questions," Adrian said seriously, "What kind of game is it and who is 'we'?"

"Well, the 'we' is me, Matt, Stephen, Charlie, TJ and Mitch." Adrian shrugged uncomfortably; the truth was going to hurt Benjy in a completely different way than had the accident. "The game of H.O.R.S.E. is a game of one-on-one, Mr. Monk." Adrian nodded and remained silent, hoping the boy would have more to contribute. He did. "All of the shots on the basket in H.O.R.S.E. have to be from far away or be very difficult with a huge possibility of missing the backboard. If you miss you get a letter. That means, the first time you miss, you get an 'H,' the second time, an 'O' and on and on until you spell out 'H.O.R.S.E.' and you're out. In our game, after the first two play, the next two play and then the last two. When there are three left we play it three ways and there's one champion. It usually ends up being me Stephen and Mitch at the end. We kinda use the code it for all kinds of stuff now. Like races, homework, getting yelled at by teachers…besides the actual game."

Just a few short sentences from Benjy had given clarity to the thoughts colliding in his head. "Benjy, who took your place on the team when you couldn't play basketball this year?"

"Mitch Munroe"

"Sharona, call the Captain." Without a word, with her brows knit in confusion, she pressed the speed dial on her cell phone, no hesitating, no second-guessing and connected with Stottlemeyer after just one ring.

On his end, Stottlemeyer looked at the caller ID and poked the answer button on his phone forcefully. "Sharona?"

"Hi Captain, can you speak with Adrian?"

"Of course." Sharona handed the phone to Adrian who took it without flinching for the first time she could ever remember. He hated speaking on the telephone.

"Hi. Leland. It's me. Adrian. Adrian Monk." He walked into the hall and Sharona trailed after him.

Stottlemeyer rolled his eyes. "I know it's you Adrian. What have you got?"

"Captain, I know who hit Benjy, and I know why."

Stottlemeyer responded with his usual, "Are you sure Monk?"

"I could be wrong, but, you know… I'm not." Monk replied with more cool than usual, and Stottlemeyer could hear Sharona in the background.

"He's sure, he's sure!"

Adrian asked, "Can you find and pick up the following people and bring them – separately – to the station?" He gave Stottlemeyer a startlingly long list of names, some of whom were juveniles.

"Some of these people are kids, Monk."

"I know. You can bring their parents with them. They aren't in any trouble. I just want to know what they know."

An hour later, Adrian paced behind the two-way mirror. Sharona was certain that the SFPD would have to replace the tile at the end of these interrogations. On either side of the observation room were two stark and unwelcoming interrogation rooms. Disher leaned against the mirror in interrogation room one, arms folded menacingly over his chest in what Adrian thought of as a weird homage to Disher's mentor and boss, Stottlemeyer. Disher was not alone. In the room were Benjy's best friends, Charlie, Stephen and Matt and their parents. Also present was TJ, one of Benjy's two "peripheral" friends as Adrian thought of this boy and Mitch Munroe. This "fifth" boy in the group of teens was also accompanied by his parents. Conspicuous only in absence was the "sixth wheel" of the group, Mitch, and his parents. That was because Mitch's mother was somewhere else.

On the opposite side, in interrogation room two, Stottlemeyer stood in the original version of the "menacing-arms-folded-over-chest-pose" and looked down on Alison Willis. Alison Munroe. _Whatever_, Adrian thought impatiently. _It all spelled attempted murder._

She seemed to be playing it with complete and utter detached calm, yet, as only Adrian observed, with anger glittering in her eyes. "Come on Captain, what's this all about? I told your officers, your Lieutenant and that consultant detective everything I know. More than once."

"Yes, humor me. I'd like to hear it in person." She recounted her story – _her lies_, Adrian scowled, and turned back to see how Disher was progressing. He clicked the switch to change back to the audio from interrogation room number one. He resumed pacing.

Adrian watched as Disher tried, without much success, to impress upon the youngsters in the room, and their parents, how cooperating could help their friend and his family. "It could help put a criminal in jail," he said, "and help protect your friend Benjy and his family." With that, one of the boys, Stephen, turned to look pleadingly at his father, who frowned at him. Apparently, Benjy's friend had more compassion than the person raising him did, yet he remained silent in deference to his father's wishes.

Adrian began to pace again. His instincts were in overdrive. He knew who sent the notes, but was waiting for confirmation. They had been able to surreptitiously lift fingerprints from three of the kids in the room because Sharona had retrieved their candy wrappers from Benjy's hospital garbage pail. It was a good thing that although the four "core" boys in the group were fast friends, their taste in candy ran to different extremes. He had a new Twix, Snickers, Crunch and two other candy bars – a Milky Way and a Three Musketeers - in his pocket waiting for the opportune moment to play "good cop" to Randy's "moderately dumb" cop. The Milky Way wrapper had been Benjy's; Adrian had this fact memorized even without Benjy's input or fingerprints. Years of experience and observation made him well-aware of Benjy's likes, dislikes, and needs. What he needed most was a father. So today, _today_, Adrian was going to be just that – the father Benjy needed. Standing up and protecting what was his… at least emotionally. He patted his pocket to make sure the candy was still there.

Just as if someone had read his mind, a young female officer, _God, is she even eighteen_, Adrian wondered with worry, brought him the results of the fingerprint matches. "There."

The one word conjured all kinds of emotions in Sharona. Mostly, she felt relief. She trusted him, she believed in him, and she had faith in him… but she was still afraid that he'd been so emotionally involved in this case, just like the investigation into Trudy's death, that he might not be able to solve it. The thought of another unsolved case on his mind had made her fear for his sanity. The relief coursed through her and she tingled with the anticipation of the summation.

"They have a match. The Twix bar."

"Stephen," she said. It confirmed his earlier observation about the boy's desire to cooperate and help. He'd been helping all along.

"Yes, but let's put it to the test." He walked out of the room and she waited and watched as the door opened in interrogation room one and he reappeared in the doorway.

Collectively, the boys sighed in relief. They knew Monk was Benjy's hero; he would take care of them. It was obvious to Sharona on the other side of the glass that they felt calmer in his presence than they did in Disher's. That in itself was a miracle – one she'd have to impress upon Adrian later on, after this was over.

Politely, Adrian made his way into the room and greeted the people he knew by name and nodded to the rest as he was introduced. He said," I brought some snacks… I know you guys like chocolate…" He reached into his pocket; the boys tore into their favorites immediately. Adrian had gotten lucky; TJ liked one of the extra candy bars. While they were happily munching, he took the opportunity to catch them off guard.

"So," he said to no one in particular. "We're close to making an arrest. The person who hit Benjy will be going to jail for attempted murder.

"Is that why you brought us here?" one of the anxious fathers asked. "To tell us that there's been progress?"

"No, no. I mean yes. Well, no, no… not exactly." Sharona winced as the people in the room grew visibly frustrated with Adrian.

"What _do_ you mean Mr. Monk?" Charlie asked curiously.

"What I mean Charlie, is I need your help. Someone here has been sending us clues, trying to help us, without letting us know who he is. That was really great, but no one in this room is going to get into trouble for telling the truth. If someone here knows what happened the day of Benjy's accident, please tell us now." Silence met his remarks. "If you'd rather not tell me, you can tell Lieutenant Disher here. I'll leave you so you feel more comfortable."

It was Sharona's turn to be frustrated. As Adrian reentered the observation lounge she punched the speaker button on the other interrogation room. The first room was silent anyway, except for some whispering amongst the boys and their parents. "God, they're scared," she said as he came to stand behind her.

"Yeah, but she isn't. Look at how cool she acts and yet, her eyes are angry."

She turned to him, "You're sure it's her?"

"Well, it's her or she's covering for someone."

"Who?"

"Let's find out." He turned on his heel and walked out the door once again.

Sharona stood her ground and waited for Adrian's brand of quiet fireworks to erupt next door.

"Hi Captain, how's it going in here?" he whispered loudly enough so that both Alison and Sharona heard him.

"Not much progress… how about you?" Stottlemeyer responded in a similar tone.

"Well," Adrian said conspiratorially, "The boys seem ready to crack. Someone knows something. I just fed them chocolate, maybe they'll open up to Disher now. One of them has been sending the notes."

Alison's eyes dilated with fear and anger, and the change didn't go unnoticed by Adrian or Stottlemeyer.

Brazenly, Alison said, "Can I go now?"

Stottlemeyer and Adrian turned to look at her as though just realizing that she was there at all.

"Now why would you want to leave all of this?" Stottlemeyer said as he gestured around the room.

"Funny. Then if you're going to hold me I want a lawyer."

"Well, you might want to save us all some time and tell us what we want to know, Ms. Willis…I mean Mrs. Munroe." Adrian said quietly. "Did you repair the car that hit Benjy Fleming?"

"I'm through repeating myself."

"Okay, well maybe you'll just want to listen, then. Here's what I believe happened…" He shrugged, tilted his head and continued with an innate confidence he didn't realize he possessed. Sharona watched and saw the same self-assurance that he always displayed at the end of a case return to his face and his stance. He didn't realize how "alright" he truly was. He just needed to find a way to feel that confidence all the time.

"You have a son, Mrs. Munroe. A son who is competitive, but alas, not the best at his favorite sport." Adrian thought back to the various basketball games he'd attended over the years where he saw Mitch bested by Benjy at tryouts and during games. "Benjy Fleming out-ran, out-scored and out-played your son in every aspect of their chosen sport. As a matter of fact, last month I watched him deliberately trip Benjy so he could capture the ball and the glory. He missed the basket – a shot Benjy could have made with one arm tied behind his back, according to the crowd and the amount of grief Mitch took from the other kids on the tryout team…which I overheard. " Behind the glass, Sharona could picture the scene as Adrian continued to paint with words. "It was simple really. Mitch thought that in order to be number one, he'd have to get rid of Benjy. But he needed help.

"I checked into a few avenues while this case was on-going, Mrs. Munroe… or would you prefer to be called Ms. Willis? Never mind. It doesn't matter, where you're going they'll simply call you by a number. Yes, I looked into your family. Your father isn't dead the way you'd have the world believe. He's in prison at San Quentin for auto insurance fraud and a variety of other state and federal crimes." Sharona gasped behind the wall of glass. Adrian hadn't told her that piece of information.

"So you, see we've been looking a little more closely at Al's Auto Appeal for other reasons, but I didn't realize it would bring me right back to the solution to this case."

Stottlemeyer looked on, fascinated as always at what Adrian could string together. The most obscure piece of information, the weirdest clues… he tuned back in as Adrian continued his summation. "Today, something struck me. Your son didn't like not being number one, but he also didn't like you not being number one. His father is a notorious womanizer, yet he married you. I couldn't figure out why until I was reminded that he managed the shop for your father, and he probably knew everything that went on. He married you to get a piece of the action, so to speak, while he continued to live the life of a bachelor. He came on to Benjy's mother, my assistant…" he paused and smirked conspiratorially at the mirror, knowing Sharona could see him, "…constantly. At the kids' ballgames, in the parking lot. One day I saw how irritated and upset your son got about it, and I felt sorry for him. Having a father who treats his mother disrespectfully in her absence has got to be difficult for an adolescent boy who idolizes his mother." Alison sat silently, eyes downcast. "So he came to you, miserable. And being his mother, you wanted to do what you could to help him get ahead and to get rid of Benjy, and by extension, his attractive mother in one fell swoop."

"Wow," said Sharona and Stottlemeyer simultaneously.

Stottlemeyer came out of his daze and said, "Alison Willis Munroe, you are under arrest for the attempted pre-meditated murder of Benjy Fleming, as well as several indictable counts of insurance frauds."

As Stottlemeyer was reading Alison her rights, Adrian turned and put his hand up to the mirror. He touched the cool glass and peered, unseeing, towards Sharona. She held her hand up to his, separated by a mere quarter-inch of glass, she could feel his love and she smiled at him although he couldn't see her. Suddenly the door to interrogation room two flew open. Startled, Adrian dropped his hand and turned to the noise. There stood Mitch, his thirteen year old fury and fear apparent on his face.

"No! What are you doing?"

"Mitch, you're going to have to wait outside. We're talking to your mother."

"Mitch, do as Mr. Monk says. Call your father."

Mitch saw the handcuffs on her wrists. "No. No. You can't take her. She didn't do anything. It was me. It was me!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as he lunged for his mother. Suddenly a couple of the more bizarre clues Monk had heard from the eyewitnesses made perfect sense. He recalled what they said, and how now it was clear that they weren't bizarre clues, just unexpected. _"There was no one in the car _and_ a very tiny person was driving; I could only see the top of a head with a baseball cap on."_ No one expected a thirteen-year-old to be driving a car; they'd all just assumed it was an adult they'd been looking for all of this time.

"I hate you, Mr. Monk."

Adrian shrugged he was used to that response from people, especially teenagers. "That may well be, Mitch, but what you did was not only wrong, it was a crime."

"I don't care. Benjy is always in my way and his slut of a mother always has my father looking at her." Adrian bristled at the remark about Sharona, he lifted his hand as if to slap the boy, but Stottlemeyer held him back. Sharona ruefully smiled at Adrian's back through the mirror, _my hero. _Jealousy was a serious motivator, even in people so young. An officer appeared in the door and handed an envelope to Stottlemeyer. Stottlemeyer called in another officer to escort Mitch to be booked as a juvenile and he called a female officer in to escort Mrs. Munroe to a booking room as well.

"What did I do? Why won't you let me go help my son?" Stottlemeyer looked up from the report in his hands, which Monk was reading over the Captain's shoulder.

"Because, Mrs. Munroe, we executed a search warrant for your shop and your home, including the garage on your property in San Rafael. Guess what they found there? Yes, a burgundy car with a huge dent on the front right fender and what could be dried blood. We'll know more after forensics gets through with the car."

Adrian shook his head. Jealousy was the motive. Amazing. A weight lifted from his shoulders as he turned towards the door. The case was over. His life had just begun again. He shook his head again. Jealousy. The only time he ever felt that specific emotion was when Sharona had dated other men or had wanted to return to Trevor that time. He recognized it now, as he really hadn't been able to then. He had loved her for so long, that the jealousy had become almost a constant companion for him. No more. As he walked out the door, she was coming towards him from the other room. She looked at him with gratitude and joy and flew into his arms.

"You did it," she whispered.

"Sort of."

"You knew! You knew before Mitch burst in. You knew, I saw it in your eyes."

"I did. I really did – it all fell into place when I saw the look in her eyes. It was a look I've seen in your eyes more than once. It was instinct. She was protecting her child."

"So Mitch took the car…"

"Without asking. I overheard the boys telling Benjy about it yesterday. Well, at least telling him about someone who took something without asking."

"He drove…"

"Which explained the weird and varied eye witness accounts. No one expects a child to be driving a car, so the witness statements were skewed."

"He did it to…"

"Get Benjy out of his way once and for all and to get his father to stop looking at you and pay more attention to his mother. They are a family full of charmers. What's that saying? 'Blood will out.'"

"I've always liked 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'"

"Well, let's go see your apple." He kissed the tip of her nose.

"Our apple," she corrected. Adrian's heart expanded with even more happiness. "After we tell Randy and the other kids and their parents what happened."

"All right. After that."

It was late …or early, depending upon which half-glass theory you subscribed to. Half-empty? Half-full? His glass was far more than half-full today. In fact, if he hadn't been thoroughly appalled by the image, he'd say his cup was overflowing. Saturday had lasted an eternally, mostly wonderfully, long time. From spending most of the previous night, morning and early afternoon in bed, but not sleeping, to the visit to Benjy to figure out the letter clues, to the police station, interrogation, summation and finally the arrests, it had become early Sunday morning at last. Adrian grinned over at Sharona while she watched the elevator's display tick the floor numbers as they descended, thrilled to have finally resolved the case. Apparently, making love with Sharona was as good as vacuuming to help open the channels of his deeply complex thought process. _It certainly was better than vacuuming overall,_ he thought while his wicked grin widened and his exceptional mind decided he should return to the task he'd abruptly abandoned the day before.

They were riding down in the elevator side by side. Sharona's hand was caught in his, a companionable silence between them. He rubbed her hand with his thumb and she looked up and returned his smile. Suddenly, a spark of mischief entered his eyes and he pushed her very gently against the side of the elevator, against the reflective, but dully burnished, metal of the wall. He dropped her hand and placed his on either side of her head, flat against the cold metal without flinching or even considering the germs. He looked down into her eyes, deeply, hungrily. She smiled at him and twisted the corner of her mouth in a provocative challenge.

He kissed her softly first, and then as his desire grew, kissed her more deeply, passionately. He crushed her mouth with his in a forceful assault that made her tender lips swell and bruise like overripe peaches. She didn't mind. The elevator stopped and the doors opened, they ignored it. It was so late, or early, that there was very little activity in the police station. Adrian reached out and without looking, pushed the door close button. His hand resumed its place on the side of Sharona's head as he resumed his delicious attack on her mouth. He angled his body against hers to have the maximum impact on her. It worked. She moaned into his mouth and didn't seem to care that they were in a public elevator as she reached for him. She brought him closer to her and held him tightly against her. He broke away from her tempting mouth to tend to the side of her neck.

This intimate moment was what greeted Disher and Stottlemeyer as the elevator doors opened on their floor again, and once again, Adrian and Sharona ignored it. Sharona's head was thrown back to allow Adrian greater access to her neck and the sharp line of her jaw. Both policemen stood looking at the couple in the elevator. Shock, frank interest, and embarrassment crept into each of their minds as they played unwilling voyeurs.

Finally, Leland got hold of his senses and cleared his throat. Adrian broke off from his onslaught of passion and threw a look over his shoulder. Surprised that the door was open, and that they weren't on the ground floor, but rather back where they started, only now with an audience, the surreal moment barely fazed him. He smiled as Sharona reached for him again, eyes still closed, carried away on a cloud of lust. He stilled her hands with his and said, "Um…we have an audience." He had the decency to look sheepish but not before he shot a triumphant grin in Randy's direction. He'd finally gotten something that he was certain Disher had wanted for his own. Disher could have his badge; Adrian had something that was so much more important to him now. More important than being a cop could ever be again… he had Sharona's love, which was more important than anything.

Speechless, Disher and Stottlemeyer simply looked from Adrian to Sharona and back. "He was thanking me for helping him solve the case," Sharona said impishly.

"I'm not going to even ask…" Leland said with a huge grin that split his face. Truthfully, he thought that whatever this was, it was about damn time. Disher on the other hand was frowning at the pair like they had committed a crime right there in the elevator and he wanted to drag them down to the cells below and lock them each away – separately.

"I guess our secret didn't last very long," she whispered into Adrian's ear on a nervous laugh.

"No, I guess not," he agreed and put his arm possessively around her waist and drew her closer as they faced their surprised colleagues. Stottlemeyer looked pointedly at Adrian's hand which rode low on Sharona's waist in a gesture that couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was – protective, loving, intimate.

"Joining us, gentlemen?" Sharona asked in her best nonchalant voice, although she had the decorum to turn a bright pink. Stottlemeyer took her up on the invitation but Disher stayed rooted to his spot outside the elevator doors. The three rode with two leaning against the interior side walls of the elevator, one perfectly still and straight, not leaning along the rear wall where he'd positioned himself. Facing each other, but looking anywhere but at each other. Finally they all spoke at once.

"That went well," from Stottlemeyer trying to bridge the awkward silence.

"What's going to happen to Mitch?" from maternal Sharona. Angry, but still human.

"I love her," from a smiling Adrian. They all looked at each other in confusion.

"What?"  
"What?"

"What?"

"I asked, what's going to happen to Mitch."

"Yeah, I sort of heard you. I was more interested in Adrian's comment," he grinned. "Care to repeat it Monk?" Two pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly. So as usual, he did the least expected thing. He crossed the short distance between where he stood and Stottlemeyer was waiting eagerly for his response. He raised a hand and pointed at the woman facing them.

"I said, I - I love _her_." As always, he stressed the wrong word in the simple sentence, yet there was no mistaking his meaning or the feeling behind the words.

"Well, congratulations, Monk, it's about time you figured it out."

"What?" Adrian and Sharona sputtered simultaneously.

Stottlemeyer ignored them and asked, "What about you Sharona? Do you love the hero of this little soap opera?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. What did you mean, 'it's about time?'"

"I mean Karen and I and lots of people have been wondering when you two would wake up. It's been obvious forever… well, at least to the rest of the world."

"We took our time. It was the right thing to do. For both of us."

"It was worth the wait," Adrian blurted, diverting their attention.

"Was it?" Sharona asked, amazed by the sentiment behind the words, astonished at the declaration.

"Without a doubt," he smiled into her eyes and moved towards her. "Earlier would have been too soon, later would have been unbearable, but it was just right – right now." Leland looked at them like a caring father might, pleased that they had "found" each other at long last.

When the elevator doors opened into the underground garage, the three walked out, but two were joined hand to hand.


	13. As Long As You're Mine

Chapter Twelve - As Long As You're Mine

A year after they'd made love for the first time, their own personal and secret anniversary, cascading branches of lavender wisteria bloomed once again. The flowers blossomed with a hint of the color that echoed Sharona's dress from that first special, perfect night. The branches flowered with the intimation of romance and mystery as they burst forth in the warm spring afternoon. Their long racemes of purple crept softly and relentlessly to scale rectory walls and earthquake-cracked stone arches. Their prolific blooms and leafy vines framed the church windows, softening the old architectural elements as they artfully hid sharp edges. White, fragrant wisteria twined on the arbors and the trellises of the garden, the scent was at once over-whelming and comforting. To Adrian, the fragile scent was Sharona; fresh, inviting, warm, womanly and most of all delicate with some type of steel inside the vine.

She had been right, of course; in late April the garden next door to the respected St. Francis church was the perfect place to have a wedding. Next door, the Norman Gothic church stood proudly with its elegant twin campanile in bold relief against the bluest of skies. Adrian had read that the interior of Saint Francis Church had been decimated in the great earthquake of 1906. The mighty brick walls of the church, however, together with its badly scorched towers, remained entirely intact. After much consideration and careful study the diocese decided to rebuild a new church within the original walls. Engineers drew up the plans to support the floor and roof with steel girders. In March 1919, the Catholic community of San Francisco rededicated the newly restored church. It was lovely and stately, although Adrian, not a Catholic, didn't feel entirely comfortable inside. Mostly because of his odd relationship with God, but partly because the cracks in the walls made him uneasy. They'd compromised, he'd said, "no religion," and she got a spot that was alive, blooming and seemingly looked after by the almighty himself.

The sun was just winding down its ascent to midday. The late morning light filtered through the vines and warmed him wherever the rays touched. He stretched his neck side to side and straightened his jacket before moving off to look at the rest of the setting for his wedding day.

Inside the church, Sharona sat in the first pew; the soft, faded wash of the paint on the wood was warm and inviting. She'd waited so long for this day. So many years, her whole life, it seemed. She looked out the side door and over towards the garden next door. She could just make out the place on the makeshift altar where the Mayor would stand in about an hour and gave her thanks to God. The God whom, for so many years, she'd believed had abandoned her. She felt one small tear of joy trickle down her cheek and she swiped it with her natural impatience. The diamond solitaire on her hand sparkled in the midday light and pearls glistened in her ears and at her throat as they caught the fire of the noontime sun through the stained glass.

Outside, in his flower-sheltered solitude, Adrian wished with every fiber of his being that he could be one hundred percent sure that he was doing the right thing today, taking this chance, opening up to the possibility that he could lose her someday; but he'd learned that there were no guarantees and that nothing was one hundred percent. He loved her desperately and completely whether or not she was his wife, she was his whole world, and that love, with rings and a certificate or without, could make her a target for someone to take her from him, or for illness to claim her or an accident to seize her, either way, married or not, it would still be devastating to lose her. His life would most certainly end as well. That was the rationale his brilliant mind spun. Married or simply "together" it would feel the same to him to lose her; but marriage meant permanence and this way he didn't have to chance losing Benjy too.

Life was fragile, and Sharona had taught him that you had to live it or watch it leave you behind. He'd wasted far too much time watching – it was time for him to rejoin the world of the living. Aside from which, the only thing he'd _ever_ been one hundred percent certain of were his feelings for Sharona and for Benjy. He walked towards the gate that separated the church from the public garden in order to get to the rear door of the church. He was on his way to the small rectory where his bride was most likely impatiently waiting for him to come and get her. The scent of the wisteria and the other flowers followed him, and drifted along the warm breeze.

The few invited guests were standing in the shade of an ancient oak tree when he passed. He raised his hand in a hesitant wave as he looked at all of them. Leland and Karen Stottlemeyer talking with Gail Fleming. Adam and Anita Kirk joined them. Monk felt no resentment towards the reinstated officer, his life was turning out better than he could have imagined and his own reinstatement, although it had happened a month previous, just wasn't as important to him as it once was and it might never be again. Scott Gregorio wandered over towards a group of people that included Dr. Kroger and his wife. Scott had begun seeing the psychiatrist on Adrian's advice, and apparently he was getting over Erin Hammond's death, because he had a beautiful redhead with him today. _Kroger seemed to work wonders for regular people, it took him a bit longer with someone like me_, Adrian thought with benevolence. Dolly Flint appeared to be "reading" Randy Disher's skull in the last row of seats, and Adrian smirked when he thought back to Dolly's admission of being a fake and how she hadn't wanted Sharona to know.

In fact, he'd used Dolly's "gifts" to help him propose to Sharona. _As always, Dolly had been open to a bribe and so he'd contacted her and paid her and primed her with harmless little secrets about the two of them, things no one else could have really known about. When Dolly had "run into" them while they were doing errands one afternoon, Sharona decided to make another appointment with Dolly, as __Adrian__ had known she would. Sharona was a pretty smart woman, but she had a blind spot when it came to the supernatural and the psychic stuff, and she was predictable in some ways...unpredictable in others. He said he'd go with her and try to be open-minded. He had made sure to have Dolly ask the right personal questions to make it look authentic, and then the psychic predicted a very hard and very brilliant crystal conglomeration of carbon, time and pressure was in her very near future. Sharona looked quizzically at Dolly then and turned to Arian, who was already on one knee with a diamond winking and shining from its black velvet box. "Rocks for jocks," as geology 101 was often called, came back to Sharona in a flood… carbon, time, and pressure…equaled diamonds. Her eyes had shined as brilliantly as the stones set in platinum in front of her. His eyes asked the question before his lips could move. "Yes," she had whispered, "yes!" _

Elderly Ruth Parlo and her granddaughter, Julie, were sitting in the shade of a primordial-looking eucalyptus tree. Julie had insisted on making their wedding cake as her gift, and it was beautiful, he'd had the opportunity to peek at it earlier with Benjy, both of them hoping not to get caught by Sharona, Cheryl or Julie. Now, it sat safely in the refrigerator where the reception would be held. It was dairy-free, so Adrian could happily eat it. Julie had certainly turned out to be a better baker than she would have been a lawyer.

Mayor St. Claire was just coming in with his wife, Miranda. Monk still felt uncomfortable around her, but Sharona had insisted she be invited along with the Mayor who had agreed to officiate at their wedding. So many people from the cases they'd solved … everyone wanted to share their joy. As he passed, they smiled indulgently at him, but no one said a word to him, he was clearly concentrating on something…_or someone_ they each thought to themselves, not without a little amazement, even after all of this time.

In the front row of the white wooden folding chairs, a television sat upon the end chair with a camera attached to the top. Benjy was fiddling with the equipment, and Adrian saw Ambrose appear on the screen briefly and then disappear… not because of Benjy, but because he'd left his living room momentarily. Then he was back, he saw Adrian staring and waved. Adrian lifted his hand again in a brief gesture and shook his head in amazement that a house-bound person could attend their wedding along with a future baseball legend, a fake psychic, and the Mayor of the city and that fourteen-year old Benjy had the know-how to make it happen. Adrian shrugged and continued his journey.

The sight that greeted him when he arrived at the rectory was sheer pandemonium, not an unusual occurrence in his life now, but once upon a time he would have been annoyed. Now he just looked in at the scene as a wide smile spread across his handsome face.

"Sharona! Calm down," his mother-in-law-to-be said from her place on the velvet-covered chaise.

"Mother, I will not calm down! I have to find that earring! Adrian gave them to me for our wedding!"

"If you'd stop whirling in circles, maybe you'd be able to see it a little better."

"Fine!" Sharona exclaimed and dropped down in a cloud of off-white silk and taffeta on the chaise next to her mother. Sharona was dressed in one of designer Monique L'Huiller's show-stopping gowns. The only reason Adrian knew this was because earlier in the year, they'd solved a case that involved the owner of a bridal salon. He'd gotten a crash course on designers and gowns and many more things he'd never really wanted, or needed, to know. Right now, however, he was glad he knew and he was even gladder that Sharona had gotten exactly what she wanted to wear today. The sumptuous off-white gown had a beaded lace bodice and was slashed at the waist with a ruched turquoise satin cummerbund. The color matched her eyes perfectly. The gown was handmade of imported fabric, hand-beaded lace, and exquisite embroidery. The result was feminine, sexy and timeless. Adrian was enchanted as he watched her twirl around the room looking for her earring. Amazed by her, _this creature is mine_, he exulted to himself with a wide grin, he simply stood and watched for a moment.

Sharona and Cheryl sat in silence for a moment, as well, both pairs of eyes scanning the carpeted floor, unmindful of the man in the doorway watching them.

It was Adrian who spotted the missing pearl reflecting in the deep pile of the rug and went down on one knee to retrieve it from beneath the bench. It was from this position that he looked into his fiancée's eyes and said, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she smiled back into his eyes, hers dancing with excitement and joy. She fastened her earring back through her earlobe, stood, and smoothed her already perfect dress. Adrian rose and held out his hand to his bride. Cheryl slipped out the door and left them alone.

"Ms. Fleming… are you ready to give up your name and your past for a future certain to be interesting, if not completely insane?"

"More than ready, Mr. Monk. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready. Really, really, you know…ready."

They walked down the aisle together, because they had already given themselves to each other, and there was no one they felt the need to ask permission from, except Benjy… who given it many months ago and now stood beaming at them from the alter with the Mayor. He didn't need to give his mother away, but he did need to be the best man for his new father, and he smiled at them both as they approached him.

Benjy felt the noose of his tuxedo tie tighten, or maybe it was just emotion that threatened to choke him, but he had a father, and even if he was nearly fifteen, he didn't mind needing him, and wanting him, and admiring him and most of all loving him. When they'd first told him about their "new" relationship when he came out of the hospital last year, it was all he could do to control the whoop of joy that threatened to scare the entire neighborhood, he'd been so thrilled and to top it off, they gave him a lot of the credit. While he waited for them to arrive at the altar, he thought back to another day, one of the happiest days in his young life… Adrian watched Benjy's face as they approached him and had the same flash of memory.

_Adrian__ sat down with Benjy six months after the accident and asked for his permission to ask Sharona to marry him. Benjy had actually cried. He would be embarrassed to admit it now, _both Adrian and Benjy acknowledged to themselves in the present_, but he had been so happy that his mother would be happy again, forever… and that they'd have a family – a real family…even though he'd kind of always thought of them that way anyhow._

_Adrian__ had reached into his pocket then, and brought out some papers. Benjy looked at them, and then looked up into Adrian's eyes, confused. He was pretty sure that permission for someone's hand in marriage didn't require a contract. At least not in fairy tales and sappy girl-movies._

_"Benjy, this may not be what you want, so before I do anything about these papers, I wanted to ask your opinion. If you say 'no way,' that's fine; but I want you to know that this is what I want. When I marry your mother, I want to be your father. I know we have a great relationship, despite my … my difficulties and I know I don't play many sports, but I'm glad that you do. I know I'll be vastly different from… and I hope vastly better than Trevor or the fathers of your friends. I promise you that I will be a good father, and I will never take for granted that your mother has chosen to share her life and you, her most special gift, with me. Benjy, I'm asking you for your permission not only to marry your mother, but to make a commitment to you as well. I want to adopt you, and give you my name just like I'm giving it to your mother."_

_Benjy was speechless. "What about my real dad?" he whispered with dread. "Won't he try to stop you?"_

_Adrian sighed, the boy was so perceptive, but did he tell him the truth, or as Sharona was coaching him, tell the teen a creative white lie to protect him. He went for the later. "Benjy, it was quite an argument, but we got his permission, and his signature. Now all we need is your okay." __Adrian__ showed the papers with Trevor's signature to Benjy. The truth was, when he'd tracked down Trevor with Stottlemeyer and Disher's help, Sharona's former husband had been drunk and would have signed anything. They waited until he'd sobered up enough and said yes. He obviously hadn't wanted Benjy to begin with; now the bastard could pretend that Benjy didn't exist. But __Adrian__ wanted him. Wanted him as much as he wanted anything he'd ever sought to have for his own. _

_Benjy looked at him shyly, in lieu of an answer he asked, "Can…can I call you Dad?"_

_Adrian's heart stopped for a moment, he never thought he'd hear that title applied to himself. But before panic could set in, he smiled and said, "Of course. If that's what you want." Inside, that's what __Adrian__ wanted; he waited with baited breath for Benjy's answer._

_"It's what I want." Then he nearly knocked __Adrian__ over with the force of his ferocious hug. _

While Benjy and Adrian were each remembering, the younger, newly-minted Monk watched as _his parents_… he smiled at the thought…. his parents faced the Mayor, waiting as he intoned the traditional "We are gathered here today…"

The ceremony could have been completely traditional, the vows and the rings exchanged as had been preordained hundreds of years before, but the bride and groom felt that in exchange for their happiness, they should tell their witnesses exactly how they felt about one another, so they decided to write their own promises and vows.

Sharona smiled her incredible smile at him and began to speak. "Adrian, I wandered into your world with what I imagined were wide-open eyes. I had experienced a lot before I met you, but I hadn't really lived. You've taught me the meaning of integrity, of honesty and kindness. You've shown me that people can be so different, and still be so much the same on the inside where it counts the most.

"Adrian, I want to be your partner, and your best friend and I want to be with you – always. I love you, Adrian. I love you morning, noon and night. I love you when you talk with Benjy, because you really listen to him. I love you when you're cooking up a solution to a case or when you're quietly sleeping. I have never been happier in my life – I mean every single happy moment all put together haven't been able to equal the happiness I've had since the day I met you." Sharona bit her lip, as she was wont to do when a case of nerves or insecurity struck. She looked up after she was finished, unafraid, at last, to look into Adrian's eyes and see her feelings reciprocated.

Adrian stood quietly during the flood of words that Sharona spoke. His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist. They were so close he could see the pulse beating in the temple by her right eye – another sure sign she was very nervous. He smiled at her and lifted her chin with his left hand. "I wasn't sure what I wanted to say to you that could possibly convey everything I feel for you, about you, for Benjy, about us as a couple and us as a family. If this were a case I'd solved, there would be an easy summation. Something like: how we met, what we went through, how we realized we loved each other, how we 'get' each other, the fact that none of it was normal or easy, but here we are. And that would be the end. Summation over." He smiled down into her eyes solemnly and continued, "That just won't do today. Because today…today is a beginning, so a summation isn't the right choice today. And we aren't a case I've solved…more like a puzzle that we solved together. What I most wanted to tell you today is that I can't imagine my life without you in it. Not a day comes or goes, not one single moment, that you're not somehow a part of my life and I need you to always be there. At first I worried if you would leave me, now I worry that you'll be taken from me. But I've learned to accept that that is a part of loving and being loved. I'm constantly amazed by our relationship. Just when I can't imagine that it can get much better for much longer, it only seems to get stronger, deeper, simpler, truer, richer and clearer."

Adrian felt the weight of the rings in his pocket. For a moment, in the beautiful April sunshine with his bride smiling widely up at him, he thought back to the day that Sharona had wanted to discuss getting these particular rings. He knew now that Sharona had been unsure of how to approach this conversation. They needed to buy rings. It was early March, and the wedding had been just over two months away. He'd known he would have to take off his old ring. What he hadn't known was although she also wanted him to take off the ring Trudy had given him – it wouldn't be forever.

_She'd approached quietly from the direction of the bedroom, and he could sense she had something on her mind. He'd really developed that ability in the last ten months. It was in her stance, her approach, her breathing, the set of her shoulders. Not to mention he'd heard her pacing the length of her bedroom like a caged lioness._

_"__Adrian__…"_

_"Hm?" He looked up expectantly from the newspaper and over his coffee mug at her._

_"I want to ask you something, but I don't want you to get angry or upset."_

_"Alright." He placed the paper, neatly folded by the side of his plate. _

_ "__Adrian__, we need to talk about wedding rings." He glanced down at his left hand and his stomach lurched. "You know I don't want to make you take off that ring, because I know what it means to you… but __Adrian__, you can't be married to two people at once, and therefore you can't wear two rings."_

_ "I knew…I knew that." he said with hurt in his voice. After all of this time, she still didn't have faith in what he felt for her._

_ "It's also not that I think you don't love me or love me less… and I don't think we need to remove Trudy from our thoughts or our vocabulary or our lives. So, I have a suggestion."_

_ He was confused and upset. His stomach hurt. He didn't want to have this conversation, although he knew it would happen eventually. He just didn't want to be there when it actually occurred…and now he was here and it was happening. He swallowed hard and said, "Okay, what's the suggestion?"_

_ "I don't think you ever should forget Trudy, and I don't want to either. She's a part of you and I love you, so she's a part of what I feel for you." She rushed on without taking a breath, "I'd like to take your ring from her… and the ring that she wore and have them remade into new rings – maybe we'll add something to the metal, like stones or another color gold… and I'd like to make three rings from the two old ones. One for you, one for me and one for Benjy. I feel like it would keep Trudy a part of our family and a part of our lives, and you wouldn't have to give up her ring, just share it with Benjy and me."_

_She sat silently waiting for his panic or tears or refusal._

_ His eyes shone with tears and appreciation. That was an amazing gesture from an amazing woman. He had been speechless, and overwhelmed by the huge amount of love he felt, that he couldn't imagine living without ever again._

Back in the present, at their wedding, the Mayor cleared his throat for the second time, and Adrian's attention was retrained on the next task. Adrian slipped Sharona's new wedding band over the ring finger of her left hand before he spoke. He took her left hand with his right and lifted them to eye level between them. "I give you this ring Sharona, as a symbol of my promise to protect you and take care of you. You and Benjy. What I didn't say just now, or six months ago when I put the first one on your hand, what I'm sometimes afraid to admit, even to myself, is that these simple bands of gold, platinum and stones really represent the reasons I feel for you the way I do. The platinum is the unbreakable strength in you that I find remarkable, the gold is the emotional warmth you radiate that I crave every day, and the diamonds are cut like the brilliant facets of your personality. Loving, determined, clever, devoted, maternal, funny… I could go on, but it would take me forever to try to put into words everything that you are and everything that you mean to me. You are all to me." He paused and looked around at their families and their friends. "The first time I said these words to you, I never thought I'd say them in front of everyone we know. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to stand with you as an equal partner in a relationship, no less a marriage. But, today I'm going to do it right and our friends and our family will be the only witnesses we need. I love you. I love you. I love you." The look he sent her was devastatingly intimate and loving and at the same time boyish and nervous.

Sharona took Adrian's left hand, ring finger empty for the first time in a very many years and for only a very few more moments. "I give you this ring, Adrian because I love you. Not just for who you are, but for who I am when I'm with you. Not for what's gone before, but because of what comes next. I give this ring to you as something we can share. It symbolizes an unbreakable bond, an undeniable promise, and an unending circle of love, life, and memory." She paused to look up at him meaningfully. Only the two of them knew the secret of the origins of their rings. Trudy wasn't between them any longer; she was with them, a guiding, spiritual part of who they were individually and together. She, after all was the reason they'd met in the first place. "This ring is a symbol of how you're changing your life and of what you've done to change mine. I love you for making me feel special...and happy…and whole. Because that is what you do for me, Adrian. Sometimes without a word. Sometimes with just a gesture. Always without a doubt. Just by being yourself. Such a simple thing... but no one else in the world could do it. Only you." He ran a finger along the line of her jaw, sending a frisson of love into the deepest parts of her being.

Mayor St. Claire said to the couple, "Those of us who are already married know that marriage, like life, brings with it many joys and also many challenges. We also know that love, while beautiful, does not always show its prettiest face. There are days when we may find it hard to express the depth of our love for one another. It is my hope that the rings you exchange today, ancient symbols of love, eternity and unity will always remind you of how you feel today. When words fail you, or when the challenges of life or marriage begin to weigh on you, look at your rings, so that you will remember this moment. These are your first gifts to one another as a married couple."

The Mayor faced the guests and continued, "Not only are Adrian and Sharona creating a marriage today, but they also are forming a family with Benjy." He turned to the boy then, "Just as it is appropriate for Adrian and Sharona to declare their love for each other in the gift of a ring, they also wish to show you, Benjy, how much they love you with the gift of a ring of your own." The bride and groom turned to Benjy and they looked at _their_ child a moment with love and pride. Sharona drew him to her in a fierce hug, and whispered, "I love you." Adrian took a smaller version of their wedding bands out of his pocket and handed it to Sharona so she could slip it on her son's finger. The boy looked at his parents, eyes sparkling with the thrill of being included. Adrian shook his hand, man to man and then quickly drew him into a warm embrace, taking to fatherhood immediately as he'd never taken to anything else before. They grinned at each other – conspiratorially, as if they'd been related for fourteen years rather than the fourteen weeks since the adoption had been finalized.

It was time for the traditional vows that would join them officially and forever. Adrian pulled Sharona closer to the alter, held both of her hands in both of his and said, "I, Adrian Monk, take you, Sharona Fleming, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health for as long as we both shall live. I will honor you and protect you. I will love and protect the child you have chosen to gift me with. I will love you every day for the rest of my life." He smiled as he dropped one of her hands to reach into his pocket. He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his ever present handkerchief.

Adrian cleared his throat and continued, "You are the other part of my being that I didn't even realize was missing until you came storming into my life with the force of an earthquake," he grinned. "Your love and understanding washes over me each time you look at me or touch me with your gentle kindness. I never want you to think that I could live even one day without you. I love you." His expressive eyes smoldered with the passion and emotion he felt, Sharona smiled through her tears. The guests sat in stunned silence to hear that type of depth of emotion, from Adrian, or from anyone… perhaps for the first time ever.

"I, Sharona Fleming, take you, Adrian Monk, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health for as long as we both shall live. I will honor you and protect you. I look forward to raising _our_ child together, because Benjy is as much yours as he is mine. In every way that counts you are his father and have been for a long time. I'm proud that he can call you 'Dad' and so is he." She looked past her fiancé's shoulder and into the eyes of her son, who nodded and smiled his encouragement. Blue-green eyes returned to velvety brown, "I will love you every day for the rest of my life. I will never leave you and I will always try to do what I think is in your best interest, even when you don't agree with me." He chuckled. Sharona went on, "Adrian, I love you with everything inside of me, and I'm not sure I ever knew what it meant to live before we met. I think I just existed, waiting, until you came into my life. You make me feel safe and protected, treasured and cherished. I will always be honored to call you my husband but most of all, my best friend. Thank you for loving me."

Before the Mayor could say a word, Adrian pulled Sharona toward him for a kiss that was restrained but so telling. The search was over for both of them. It was in the way he held her. It was in the way she leaned into him. It was the way they looked into each other's eyes. It was in this moment when two desire nothing more than to be one for eternity. They had just pledged before their family and friends, under the bluest of blue skies, to love one another for the rest of their lives. No ceremony that was ever performed in that garden could have been more heartfelt or true. Just a simple covenant between Adrian and Sharona with God, their families and their friends watching over them as they made their promises and declarations.

Adrian whispered against Sharona's lips, "Thank you Sharona, for giving me all of the things I never imagined could be mine." Sharona smiled and pulled him closer. No one watching doubted that their marriage would be a happy one, while it would also be protective, loving, argumentative, steadying and profoundly honest.

In the past, she had always chosen men who wanted her to become something other than what she was. He had chosen one woman he believed would save him from himself and when he lost her, he thought he'd never recover. Each had been looking for a fantasy "right" to correct their imagined "wrongs." They hadn't recognized at the time they had first collided that in this one instance, two "wrongs" might just make a right. They couldn't have – circumstance had created the opportunity, but time had created the bond and woken the realization. They had won. He had banished his need for the perfect princess and woke up each day to the most perfect life he could imagine. She had stopped looking for white knights on white horses and destiny gave her a hero, a superman, in crisply starched shirts on a mission of resolution. Adrian and Sharona challenged each other to be better, they dared each other to love harder, occasionally they appalled each other, or perplexed each other; they always thrilled each other, fought with each other, loved each other madly, made passionate love with each other, recognized themselves in each other, motivated each other and in the end, each would always understand the other, even without words. There were truly two sides of one coin.

"Well," said Mayor St. Clair with a laugh, "I happily pronounce you man and wife, and since you've taken care of the kissing part Adrian, let me be the first to congratulate you both and introduce the new Mr. and Mrs. Adrian Monk." That gave the assembled crowd a reason to applaud and cheer, so they did. The newlyweds turned towards their guests and smiled, Sharona widely, Adrian somewhat bashfully. The Mayor added, "The bride and groom request your presence at the celebration of their marriage at Christophe on Mason Street. Directions are available for those that need them."

Adrian and Sharona walked back up the aisle, husband and wife at last, and were met at the end with a flurry of good wishes, happy hugs and kisses which Adrian discretely shied from. They rode alone together in a beautiful white limousine the few blocks to the restaurant and sat close together in a contented silence full of all the feelings and the soft, unspoken emotions that lovers have for each other.

They arrived at Christophe ahead of their guests and were escorted to the open air rooftop where the luncheon in their honor was being held. The maitre'd left them alone and together they surveyed the view and the tables and the flowers. The band, without an audience, entertained themselves with soft music of their own creation. The umbrellas swayed gentle in the spring breeze. The same breeze picked up the curls around Sharona's face and they swayed in rhythm with the umbrellas and both seemed to move in time with the music. Adrian took her hand in his and he asked her, "May I have this dance?"

Her response was another of her wide smiles, and as he took his bride into his arms, Adrian felt his world straighten and regain some ballast after all of this time. They danced alone and contented. They looked deeply into each other's eyes without words, smiling smiles for one another that held love and happiness, moving effortlessly in time to the bands' changing tunes. Exchanging soft kisses and murmured words of love, they circled the floor over and over again. Neither wanted these moments to end – their first dance went on as if it would last forever. A few at a time, their guests wended their way upstairs and found them there, alone, dancing, gazing into each others eyes, happy. The romance was palpable, the love was evident, and the moment sheer perfection. No one had the heart to break the spell that wove around the newlyweds and in turn, around the group. Leland squeezed Karen's hand, Mayor St. Clair pulled Miranda closer to his side. Oblivious to their audience, despite Adrian's keen observational skills, the couple lost themselves to the music and each other, and that was all there was for long minutes.

Finally, a busboy dropped a tray of water glasses and broke the quiet spell and everyone gasped. Of course Adrian took off towards the sound to see if he could help clean up the mess…Sharona pulled him over to their family and friends instead. Trays of hors d'oeuvres were passed by the wait staff and another waiter circulated with champagne flutes filled with Veuve Clicquot and a raspberry which floated merrily in each tapered glass.

The band leader caught everyone's attention and asked for Gail to come to the microphone to toast the bridal couple. Rather than a toast to the couple or tritely welcoming Adrian into a family that he'd been a part of for a long time, Gail had decided to read a poem written many years before by Eben Eugene Rexford called "The Art of Marriage."

A good marriage must be created  
In the marriage, the little things are the big things  
It is never being too old to hold hands  
It is remembering to say "I love you" at least once each day,  
It is never going to sleep angry.  
It is having a mutual sense of values and objectives.  
It is standing together and facing the world.  
It is forming a circle of love that gathers in the whole family.  
It is speaking words of appreciation and demonstrating gratitude in thoughtful ways.  
It is having the capacity to forgive and forget.  
It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow.  
It is a common search for the good and the beautiful,  
It is not only marrying the right person  
It is being the right partner  
Love can never more grow old,  
Locks may lose their brown and gold  
Cheeks may fade and hollow grow,  
But the hearts that love will know  
Never winter's frost and chill,  
Summer's warmth is in them still.

"To Adrian and Sharona," said Gail with a sincere smile, "a long and happy life together." The assemblage lifted their glasses. "To Adrian and Sharona," they echoed. Adrian looked down into Sharona's eyes and saw everything he ever needed or wanted reflected there.


	14. Epilogue Atherton

Epilogue - Atherton

The sleek, white Rolls Royce limousine slid smoothly over the hills of San Francisco while Adrian sat ramrod straight in the back seat. Sharona's hand was clasped firmly in both of his and her blonde head was on his shoulder. Her loose, flaxen curls were moving gently with the breeze from the open window – on her side. On his side, her warmth and love washed over him in quiet waves. He moved the blowing curls behind her ear and she snuggled closer to him. They didn't speak, he had made the arrangements for their honeymoon on his own and he wanted to give her something that was almost as wonderful as what he had been given today. Sharona admired the sparkle of her rings in the late afternoon sunlight as she twisted her left hand in lazy circles on her lap; he admired the sparkle of her eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror.

When Sharona had come into his life he never thought that they'd end up here – Sharona in a flowing bridal gown and he in a black, _yes black_, tuxedo. He, Adrian Monk, who could see potential outcomes to every crime, nearly every impossible scenario, could never have seen this coming on that first day so long ago. Today, Sharona had given him something he thought he'd never find again, love and devotion, along with something he was certain he could never have, a wonderful son – phobia free - and a life worth living. He sent another silent thanks up to Trudy too, for if it weren't for her, he would have never met Sharona and Benjy. The old saying about doors closing and windows opening, which kind of made him ill to imagine the trapped airborne diseases, not to mention pollution and entering allergens, was apparently, and against all odds, true.

The wedding was, as weddings often are, sentimental and sloppy. He held himself together on the receiving line and tried not to imagine which guests had been sniffy or teary during the ceremony and were then shaking his hand. The afternoon reception had flown in a cloud of perfume and music, laughter and kisses. He remembered to really smile for the photographer and for all the good wishes. Adrian had promised himself to remember every detail this time, to not let the sentiment get in the way of the details. _Details.__ Details. Details._ _Can't__ forget the details, just in case_. _Have to remember in case it all goes away too soon. _ _Remember. Remember. Remember_, his internal dialogue beseeched him. But all he could remember was Sharona's eyes, today appearing aquamarine and as bottomless as the ocean, looking into his – while they said their vows, when they danced, when they cut the cake. He couldn't remember conversations with anyone else and barely recalled the hearty hugs of congratulations that it took all of his will not to pull against and run away.

"Adrian?" Sharona's voice cut into his thoughts and brought him back to the present. She'd been quietly basking in his warmth and was content to listen to his steady breathing.

He looked down into her eyes and was momentarily mesmerized once again. "Yes?" he said with a sly smile.

"Where are we going?" She could plainly see they weren't headed to the airport. This didn't disappoint her, she didn't want to contemplate traveling with Adrian and the wipes and the fear of flying – she wanted a grounded honeymoon. Safe and private…where she was didn't matter as much as with whom she was sharing it.

"You'll see." The driver drove them out of San Francisco and southeast onto the San Francisco peninsula. They watched as the city melted away and a town called Atherton came into view. It was a scenic, rural, thickly-wooded, residential area, with abundant open spaces and streets designed primarily as scenic routes rather than for speed of travel. This pleased Adrian as he thought of Sharona trying to speed down these local roads and being unable to. She'd be safe. She'd go out and then come home safely once again. Safely to him and Benjy. Where they'd always be waiting for her.

The metal sign fastened to the huge boulder at the end of the wide, gated drive said simply, "Serenity." They drove into the secluded drive that had been difficult to see from the road, shaded with canopies of aged trees and vines. _It was manicured, yet wild_, Adrian thought. _A little of both of us here._

Sharona had held her tongue just as long as was possible for someone with her temperament to be patient and silent. He admired her restraint, although he could tell she was bursting with curiosity. "Adrian, where are we going?"

"Here," he motioned out the window and Sharona was surprised to see a lovely craftsman style house with pretty stained glass windows on either side of the double doors. It was charming. "This is Serenity? I imagined when I saw the driveway that it was a spa or something."

"You'll see," he answered mysteriously.

The driver came and opened the door, and held out a helping hand. Adrian alighted first and even in a beautiful, beaded wedding gown, Sharona produced a wipe and placed it discreetly in his hand as he helped her out of the cavernous backseat of the limousine. After she stood and rearranged her gown, he took her hand as he worked the wipe in his other, and they walked towards the front door. The knockers were hammered iron and shaped in the traditional arts and crafts style. They both admired that Frank Lloyd Wright-look – he for its simplicity and linear, symmetrical organization, she for the beauty of the wood and the sensible layouts. Each time they had a case in a craftsman-type building, Sharona looked at the mouldings far more often than she looked for the murderer.

He dropped her hand and reached into his pocket. Then he turned to her and said, "I have something for you. Pick a hand." Still unsure of this other, nearly giddy, side of Adrian, she looked at his fists uncertainly.

Biting her lower lip in concentration, she quickly a decisively tapped his right hand. He unfurled his fist to reveal – the used antiseptic wipe. The fact that he'd held onto it for more than two seconds after use didn't escape her notice – _he was trying – for me_. But still, she was growing impatient. She wanted to be _with_ her new husband not staring at a house from the outside.

"Adrian!" she said through gritted teeth and simultaneously grabbed the wipe and pulled on his left hand impatiently. He quickly smirked at her and produced a brass key. He pushed it into the hammered iron deadbolt and swung the wide door open as far as he could. Sharona made a move towards the entrance and was shocked as Adrian whirled and picked her up in one fluid motion.

"Adrian!"

"Hey, let me enjoy my wedding day!" He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose – the little bits of spontaneity he was showing her were miraculous and she savored each bit as though it were the last one forever. "Welcome home," he said simply as he stepped over the threshold, new wife in his arms, and joy bursting in his heart.

Misunderstanding, she asked, "Did you rent this place for the week?" Not stopping for a reply she went on, "Wow, it's gorgeous! Wow, look at the view!" She struggled out of his arms, impatient to inspect every inch. He smiled at her retreating form indulgently. The hardwood floors were stained dark and they were polished to shine like water in moonlight.

He saw several images of his wife, one reflected in the one-way glass windows, one in the polished floor and the reality of her thin frame. He admired each angle, each curve, each tilt of her head. He followed her to the enormous floor to ceiling windows in the living room, stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her silk-covered waist. The house's elevation afforded a view of the San Francisco Bay through one-way glass. Here they could have the privacy Adrian craved and the vistas that set Sharona free. They looked out at the distant water and over the huge sloping yard. There was a basketball net hung on a pole with a patch of blacktop surrounding it. A built-in barbeque off of the patio and a hammock between two trees that looked almost too stately for such a menial task. There was a pool - what looked to be a kidney-shaped one, but some of it was hidden from her view by a man-made waterfall that gently cascaded water into the pool. She turned in his arms, and said, "Adrian, this is so perfect and beautiful!"

By turns, her husband smiled then frowned slightly and said, "Before we go any further, I have to tell you something. About this place… six months before she died, Trudy, and by default, I, inherited this land from one of her relatives. We were expecting to build a house and maybe raise a family here." Sharona nodded, and swallowed the lump in her throat. _This was Trudy's house. _Her heart sank. The one worry that had plagued her, no matter what type of reassurance and how much love Adrian lavished on her since their first night together or through their engagement or at their wedding ceremony, came back to her in a rush and deflated her joy. She felt like she had been struck by a physical blow, when only moments before she'd been as happy as happy could ever be. _ I'm a replacement._

"No, Sharona. You aren't and it isn't."

"Aren't what and isn't what?" _He'd__ read her mind_ – usually she liked that – now she wasn't so sure.

"I know what you were thinking, that this was Trudy's house. It wasn't. We had the land, but never built the house."

"Then how…?"

"About two years ago, I got a notion to build a house. A safe place. Maybe it was after the fire that nearly killed Ambrose. But I wanted a place to escape to at the end of the day, a place to come home to, but not be alone. I wanted you and Benjy to move in here with me – even then. I'm not even sure what I was picturing when I pictured the two of you living here with me. Was it comfort? Friendship? Family? Safety? I know now it was all of those things, but what I didn't know or maybe I couldn't even admit then was that I was building this house because I was already much more than a little in love with you – and with Benjy. I-I couldn't say it, even to myself or to Kroger. But on the day of Benjy's accident, the day we argued? That's what I was going to discuss with Kroger and what I wanted to talk to you about after and the whole reason Benjy was in the accident in the first place. I wanted to tell you I loved you and wanted you… but-but then…" a small measure of the Adrian she knew so well emerged then, the insecure, unsure Adrian.

"Adrian, that wasn't your fault…you couldn't have known, you love Benjy, you didn't want to see him in an accident, you just needed privacy. Privacy I've been invading since the day we met."

"Well, it turned out to be just what I needed. This house is my wedding gift to you – I want my privacy invaded – within reason – every day for the rest of our lives. Because, as for the other thing you were thinking, you are not a replacement. No one could replace Trudy for me, and I wouldn't want anyone to try. But now, no one could replace you for me, not even Trudy. I told her as much at the cemetery the other day. I-I went to visit. For the last time until the anniversary of her death, from now on, I promise. I didn't thank her for leaving me, but I did thank her for leading me to you."

Tears shined in her eyes, when she realized the impact of Adrian's words. He'd accepted that Trudy was gone, and he wanted her for herself. She was irreplaceable to him now and he had elevated her to be more important in his reality than was his beloved first wife. She felt lucky and happy and grateful and in that moment, she too sent a silent thank you to Trudy and hoped she was smiling for them today. The tears began to fall, and Adrian grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and dried her tears gently.

"Sharona, please don't cry. This is the happiest day of our new life together… the first of many of them together. Let me show you the rest of our new home – that is if you want to live here."

"Are you kidding? Of course I want to live here!" She grabbed his hand and flew down the long hallway to the right. She counted three huge rooms off that hallway – each with their own bathroom. "What were you thinking? How many rooms are in this house?"

"Well, the living room, dining room, kitchen, family room with a home-theater thing and five bedrooms."

"Five bedrooms? Are you going to share one with me or do I get my own?"

"Oh, oh no… we're sharing." He squeezed her hand and kissed her suggestively. Both still astonished by the passion that came on them suddenly and that seemed always to lie just beneath the surface, he continued with difficulty, "Of the others, one is for Benjy – here take a look." He led her to the largest of the rooms off of the second hallway that had already been decorated to her sons' exact specifications. Favorite teams, favorite colors… where the rest of the house was stark white against deeply stained cherry wood floors, mouldings and other details.

"How did you…" she wondered aloud until it dawned on her. "Benjy knew? And he didn't tell me? But he tells me everything!" She felt a motherly pang about sharing her son's confidence, but at the same time a swell of love bubbled up in her that her "two men" loved each other as well and as much as they each loved her. She wandered around and touched everything… there was a shiny and sleek new computer on the handsome mission-style desk and a television was mounted to the ceiling. The bed was meticulously made – Adrian's doing no doubt, and as she studied Benjy's collection of race cars, perfectly laid end to end, Benjy's doing there, she had a thought. She turned and looked at the closet – it was full of most of her son's clothes and shoes and jackets. "No wonder he wanted to pack for himself to stay the week at my sister's. He didn't want me to notice the empty closet. Very sneaky, Mr. Monk."

Adrian grinned and said, "That's not all we did." As they went through the rooms she noticed little touches of "home." Her favorite wine in the wine cooler; her favorite foods in the refrigerator. By the time they got to the far side of the house, she was completely overwhelmed.

"One last surprise," Adrian whispered to her as he led her into the master suite. The bed was covered in crisp dark blue sheets and it was strewn with pink rose petals, which of course were lined up like little soldiers instead of carelessly tossed. She laughed and threw herself into his arms. He led her to one side of the big bed and into a bathroom that was masculine, simple and very organized. A new star shaped showerhead sparkled behind the clear glass of the shower enclosure and a new bar of Lever 2000 sat pristinely on a shelf.

"We're going to share this bathroom everyday?" she questioned with a suspicious lift of her right eyebrow.

"Well-well, I … even for you I can't quite go that far, so, no, the only thing we won't be sharing in our lives is a bathroom." He led her out of his and around the bed into hers. It was like a bathroom from a movie or a fairy tale, every detail from the wide, round tub to a clear-glass stall with electronic shower temperature gizmos and glass shelves full of her favorite perfumes and shampoo and toothpaste. It was a soft shade of pink, soothing and gentle. He'd made this room just for her – to her taste, not his, and although he didn't know it, they were going to make use of that gorgeous tub – _post haste_. Again, she found herself fighting tears over the gesture from a man who until recently could only be described as self-involved and unaware of the needs and wants of others. It told her he was making strides in his recovery and that he had put her wants and needs above his own…

"But, how on Earth did you manage? You don't drive; you barely use the phone…"

"Benjy does use the phone, and remember that nice man in the limousine who drove us here? His name is Darryl. He's been my employee for months now – there's a second car in the garage…we'll have a car and a driver for me – so that you don't have to chauffer your husband everywhere we go."

Stunned into silence, Sharona knew Adrian had money he never touched, almost as thought it didn't exist. For years now they'd lived on the consulting fees that the SFPD paid him. She, Benjy and Adrian had managed to maintain two residences and three lives… and none of them had wanted for much. She knew for certain that this house had not come from the fees the SFPD paid Adrian. The untouched insurance on Trudy's life, the insurance on the destroyed car, some type of inheritance that had been Trudy's, aside from the land, and became his, his disability insurance, his SFPD pension… she assumed it was a lot, but she never imagined a five-bedroom, seven-bathroom house, no-make-that-estate-in-Atherton-with-a-uniformed-driver kind of money. She was overwhelmed and speechless. This was the man that didn't remember to pay her in their former relationship as employer and employee, now he was lavishing her, spoiling her and she was overcome.

"I almost wish Benjy were here to see your face, but I promised we'd reenact your every reaction next week when he moves in too."

"Every reaction?" Sharona asked with insincere coyness.

Adrian mimicked her earlier gesture and lifted one eye brow, "Well, no, not _every_ reaction. That's why he's in the furthest room in the other wing, by his own request, so we could all have the type of privacy we sometimes need, and still have lots of room to be together also."

"Well, then, let's make the most of the complete and total privacy we're not going to have after this week is over…"

"What do you suggest?"

"You wait right here and leave it to me."

Sharona disappeared into her bathroom, and the next thing Adrian heard was the water running into the tub. A grin illuminated his face and as he walked towards the sound of running water, he began to unbutton his shirt.

Hours later, sated and curled under a blanket and sheets of dark, soft, Egyptian cotton and pink rose petals, Sharona came to her senses long enough to ask, "What's with all of the rooms? Are we expecting a lot of guests?"

"Well, maybe your mother? My brother? When Stottlemeyer fights with Karen?"

Sharona laughed, "Well, that's okay for one or two of the rooms…"

"One to use as an office for us to work." He'd been reinstated to the SFPD a month earlier, but retired after a week. He realized that sometimes the attainment of a goal was more important than the goal itself. Sharona and Adrian were partners in their marriage, but also in their work; he had decided that being a consultant was more lucrative than being a cop and he wanted Sharona by his side. She was working on getting her PI license. He'd put a Stickley partner's desk in the middle room on the hallway with Benjy's room and decided to leave the rest to her.

"That makes sense," she nodded in approval. Suddenly Adrian got quiet and looked intently across the room at the shiny tips of his shoes peeking out from under an armchair. He noticed a spot and began to wonder how to shine the shoes with his buffer still in the San Francisco apartment… "Adrian?" She could see he was nervous. He was straightening his shoulders and moving his neck side to side as if he were being manipulated by a chiropractor.

"We … ah… we … Well, we never really discussed this before, but I was thinking…" he paused to swallow the huge lump in his throat, that maybe we ah, we'd have another child beside Benjy… or two more. Or we could adopt if you didn't want to have any more, or…" Sharona put one finger to his lips and then snaked her arms around his neck.

"Adrian, I didn't want to pressure you, I thought the idea of a messy baby would completely send you 'round the bend…but I'm so happy that you want that! I want more than anything to have a baby. Your baby. Our baby. One we could all love and nurture and teach. You and me and Benjy, together to welcome another life into our family. But are _you_ certain? There are diapers and drool and food fights … to say nothing of the germs and the milk!"

"One thing at a time Sharona, you know I get hives over things like that."

She smiled benevolently…they still had a ways to go; they were still making progress with the milk. Now they had the whole rest of their lives to make that progress, together.


End file.
